The Curse of Mortality
by Caelice
Summary: Kenny finally dies for the last time in a car accident, but the suspicious circumstances leading to his death are linked to his new best friend Damien, and it's only a matter of time before the secret is exposed. DamienKenny, Style, Creek
1. Obsession

The Curse of Mortality

Chapter One

Obsession

There was nothing more painful than seeing him happy. Every time Kenny laughed, Damien's heart clenched painfully and there was a strange thundering sound in his chest that made him feel dizzy. He couldn't understand how seeing the object of his affection so content could make him feel so truly miserable. But it was an addiction, an urge to watch him every second of every day until finally he would force himself to turn away and return to the depths of Hell where he belonged.

And then he would return, almost everyday just like today and stand and watch Kenny as he lived his life, oblivious of his captivated stalker. Damien made sure it stayed that way. He refused to allow even the slimmest chance of being seen, using pure concentration to make sure that he stayed fully invisible during his stalking hours. Even the smallest distraction would make him flicker into visibility and sometimes he would feel himself freeze in panic as Kenny frowned, tilting his head curiously and glancing in his direction. But he'd never been quick enough before Damien flashed out of sight again.

He watched him for two years, obsessively following him every almost every single day from the moment he woke up to when he took the bus to school, sat through class, played with his friends after school and then returned home and fell asleep in his bed. Damien would even watch him sleep, daring to step into his room silently and sitting in the corner, watching the blond twitch in his slumber. His face was never peaceful when he slept; he was always frowning or whimpering, caught in the throes of a nightmare that plagued him every night. And Damien would watch helplessly as he suffered.

Sometimes he would be brave enough to pull up the covers and carefully crawl into bed next to Kenny, tentatively brushing his fingers against the younger boy's bare back. He always kept a few inches of distance between them, worried that any more contact would wake the boy up and he'd be forced to teleport back to Hell, away from the one he adored. At times Kenny would turn over and Damien would find his heart racing and his body paralyzed in shock and wonder. Electric sensations would shoot up and down his body and he would feel all of his muscles tense in anticipation as they moved closer and closer over the course of the night.

Time would pass without warning and the moment their lips were about to touch the sun's rays would peek over the horizon, streaming in through the windows and hit Kenny's face. For a second, a soft light would make his beautiful features glow, making them ethereal and almost angelic and Damien would be immobile from the utter attachment he felt in that second. Then he would jump back and leave the earth and return to the place that he despised.

His home.

Then he would rest for a few hours, mourning the moments where he was away from his beloved. He would curl up in bed, a gentle smile on his face counting down the moments before he could return to earth and revisit Kenny.

Some nights were worse than others. He would grip his bed sheets, nails digging into the mattress. Thoughts of Kenny would crowd his mind and every fiber of his being would scream because of the distance separating the two of them. Doubt would enter his brain and torture himself wondering whether the blond boy would even notice his existence or care. Just because he was devoted to Kenny didn't mean that the other would necessarily feel the same way. And the thought drove him frantic, causing him to being a shaking, nervous wreck until he would collapse from exhaustion, panting for breath and scowling. He hated how this boy could make him so crazy.

But now, there would be no more grief. He was going to take action, going to finally do what he had been planning to since the moment he fell for the blond. There would be no more waiting in the dark, filled with jealousy and longing and forced to hide from the world. He had a plan that would bring him the happiness he deserved.

He glanced down at the book in his hands, shivering with excitement. His eyes scanned the pages carefully, taking in every single detail down to the last ingredient. He attempted to focus on the task at hand, but it was difficult when he was so filled with eagerness and he could barely form the words for the spell. He stuttered through the page, repeating it several times until he finally got it right. Then, once he had practiced enough to make it absolutely perfect, he reached out towards the pentagram and placed his hand in the very center.

The pentagram began to glow, a red light emitting from the lines with a burning heat. He felt the sign searing into his skin and gritted his teeth, telling himself that it would all be worth it once he was done. One the ritual was complete his father would have no idea that the laws of natural death were being broken.

And then Damien would be free to kill Kenny.

Permanently.

00000

"Where's Kenny? I haven't seen him all day," Stan said, glancing around the classroom. Kyle shrugged, too absorbed in his work to care. Cartman, in the meantime, was flicking spitballs at Butters, who kept jumping up and swatting them away. Even at the age of seventeen he hadn't changed, still the malicious, terrorizing bastard he had always been. During the past few years he had devised more devious, more cunning plots to dominate the world or eliminate the Jews and although each of them had failed he persisted, never wavering in his constant hatred.

Despite this, and despite his animosity towards his friends, they had remained together and had even helped them out once in a while, although he refused to admit it. Just like before, he still remained closest to Kenny, whereas the other two had maintained a very secure brotherly relationship as always.

"Who cares about that poor piece of shit? He wasn't here yesterday either," Cartman snapped, obviously irritated. When Kenny didn't come to school, he had to put up with Stan and Kyle's friendship, which was one of the last things he wanted to do. Not to mention nobody else laughed at his sick jokes. He flicked his pencil towards Butters, who shrieked and was immediately told off by the teacher. "Or the day before…or…" He frowned, glancing up with a disturbed expression on his face.

"Kenny hasn't been in school for four days. How did we not notice?" Kyle demanded, puzzled. The other two blushed, slightly ashamed that they hadn't even realized that their friend had been absent. "I guess we've been too busy. We should check up on him afterschool." Stan nodded in agreement.

"You two can go. I don't give a damn about him," Cartman snapped. Truthfully he was just too lazy. Not to mention he refused to show even the slightest hint that he cared about any of his friends. Cartman, even during his adolescence, had remained spiteful towards all his friends, backstabbing them whenever possible and showing the smallest possible concern for their wellbeing. The only time he cared was when he could make money out of their suffering and, knowing Cartman, he would always come up with a sick method of doing this.

"Yes you do, you fat son of a bitch!"

"Shut up, you stupid Jew!" Once again they were bickering, just like always. Only this time Stan didn't have anyone to share an exasperated glance with. He decided that he would go to Kenny's house, once the bell rang in a couple of seconds.

"Don't make fun of my beliefs!"

The bell rang, interrupting their argument. Stan stuffed his book into his bag, zipping it up and flinging it over his shoulders. Kyle followed him out the door, nearly knocking over a few people. Cartman trudged after them reluctantly, hands shoved in his pockets and teeth gritted. He grumbled under his breath, swearing and cursing the other two.

They walked towards Kenny's house, each of them entertaining their own theories about the reason behind Kenny missing school. Stan wondered if Kenny was perhaps just slightly ill, like most normal people when they skipped school. Kyle thought that Kenny might have simply been having some trouble at home, whereas Cartman simply blurted out loud that the thought Kenny was missing school just was he was a lazy, poor piece of shit.

All three of them wondered the same thing, but only Stan said it out loud after many minutes of pondering. "Do you think he might have died again?"

In a single, swift motion Kyle grabbed Stan by the shirt and swung him around until they were only inches away, their noses almost touching. The fire in Kyle's eyes stunned Stan, as his anger burned holes into his own. The hair on the back of Stan's neck stood up and he felt his blood boil from hurt and fear as the grip on his jacket tightened to an almost choking point. Kyle's face had suddenly flamed as red as his hair and his breathing became labored and pained and for a few seconds they simply stared at each other, electric sparks traveling between them. Finally, Kyle loosened his grip on his best friend, sighing heavily and allowing a soft groan to pass his lips.

"I'm sorry, Stan. I'm so…_goddamn sorry_…" he mumbled. "But when you said that it just made me…I just don't want to think about it, okay?" Adjusting his sleeves he turned around and continued to head towards Kenny's house. Cartman and Stan exchanged shocked glances, then followed silently after Kyle, worried that if the silence was broken there would be another outburst.

Two years had passed since Kenny's last death, in which he had fallen off the roof of a building. None of them liked to think about the deaths, but it wasn't his last one that had had the most impact on them. It was an event they never spoke of, but it had been the turning point in Kenny's life, where he had suddenly found the determination to live and continue living a perfectly normal life.

Kyle and Stan had helped him, and Cartman as well, though it had taken a lot of persuasion, and Kenny had fought to gain his freedom and won. And for two years he had not perished or even come close to death. And the four of them had become ridiculously close now that their friendship wasn't punctuated by the countless funerals, the painful goodbyes and even the exasperated feelings of familiarity. They had become accustomed to Kenny dying, so much that when he was gone it was barely noticeable to them, because he would always return the next day.

But this time it was different. This time, if Kenny died, there was surely no chance of him returning. He would be gone forever, never to walk upon the earth and after the bond that had made them inseparable, they didn't know if they could handle it. They couldn't handle the thought that Kenny would leave and never come back. Therefore it had led to no one ever mentioning the incident and they had just been grateful that he was still with them.

Kyle was the most sensitive to the subject, maybe because of his caring nature or perhaps it was for another reason. Stan never knew what that reason was, but he had taken a guess and felt that he was right in his judgment. But it was not his business, so his curiosity had remained unanswered.

Kyle stepped up to the door of Kenny's house, his hand poised in front of the rundown door and he paused, suddenly unsure.

"What's wrong, Kyle?" Stan asked. Kyle said nothing, shifting from one foot to another. His resolve had faded the moment he was faced with the prospect of actually facing the situation. The possibility of the worst happening was now present and suddenly he was ready to turn back and live in denial.

"He doesn't want to now what behind that door. Isn't that right, _Kahl_?" Surprisingly, it was Cartman who read the telltale signs of his anxiousness. "You being a coward now, Jew?" Before he could continue, Kyle's fist tapped the door gently.

The door opened slightly to reveal Carol McCormick, who glanced at them with slight confusion before smiling welcomingly. The three of them felt the tension melt away immediately. Kenny's mom wouldn't be smiling if her son had just died. She ushered them in immediately, closing the door behind them. And they stood in Kenny's poverty-stricken house, slightly uncomfortable as a few rats scurried around their legs. Cartman in particular looked absolutely disgusted by the mold on the walls and very obviously refrained from coming in contact with anything. Kyle glared as he said "_eeew_" when he stepped in something slippery.

The walls were covered in grease and food, with the wallpaper flaking off, revealing rotting wood underneath. Every piece of furniture was sagging from age and the couches were covered in holes with the fluff poking out, as if some absent-minded person had been tugging at it for hours on end. Most of the doorways were either empty or the doors were hanging sideways precariously, creaking loudly.

"_Kenneh_! Your friends are here to see you!" she called. When there was no answer, she frowned slightly. "He's been acting a little strange lately. Maybe you should just go on in and makes yourselves comfortable. I'm sure he'll be happy to see you." And then she left, glancing worriedly at Kenny's door.

"This is gross, guys. Kenny's house…is _gross_. Must be because he's a poor piece of crap," Cartman snapped. They opened Kenny's door, peeking through and spotting Kenny lying on his bed.

He looked _terrible_. He had taken off his hooded parka, his shirt and his pants– and the reason why was quite evident. His skin was slick with moisture and burning a fiery red color that almost seemed to radiate heat. Droplets of sweat ran down the sides of his face, which was tense and half-covered by his bare arms. He was biting his lower lip from the discomfort, eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration. There was dullness to his hair that was the result of a mixture of dirt, sweat and oil, making it obvious that he had not showered in quite a few days. When he caught sight of the three boys, he barely made the effort to lift his head, instead lifting his hand to wave momentarily before letting it drop.

"Holy shit, Kenny! What the hell's wrong with you?" Kyle cried, frozen to the spot. Stan moved forward hesitantly and put the back of his hand against Kenny's forehead. He cringed when he felt the heat being emitted from the blond.

"Jesus, he's burning up really badly. We should take him to the hospital."

"_No…no hospital_…" Kenny mumbled. His pillow muffled his voice. "I'm not…sick…"

"Of course you're sick, you dumb ass. You look like you've been _baked_!" Cartman snapped. "How much you guys wanna bet he croaks before tomorrow?" Kyle looked furious enough to strangle him. Stan admired his self-control as instead he sat next to Kenny, looking pissed off.

"I don't feel sick. Just…really tired and hot…and weird as well. I don't know what's…wrong with me, but it's okay…I'm better than the first day I got sick. That was…_awful_," Kenny said. He loosened his grip on his bed, sighing softly. He flicked his blonde hair away irritably. Stan said nothing about bringing him to the hospital, knowing that he would simply protest and kick up a fuss. Despite him being currently ill, Kenny would fight not to go to the hospital. It was a place he truly despised because of the memory of when he had first died for longer than a night. They never spoke of it and most times refused to talk of it, but since then Kenny had loathed hospitals. And Stan refused to be the one to step up and propose they force him there.

"Dude, are you sure you're okay?"

"I don't know…I just woke up and…my head felt really heavy and I felt like the room was boiling and…I couldn't move at…at…all," he groaned. "And I'm so tired and I feel really…weird. Like, nothing hurts and it's not like a…fever, it's just weird…you know?" He squeezed his eyes together and a few tears of frustration leaked out, but his lank hair covered his face so only Stan noticed it. "I don't know what's going on…but it's getting better, at least."

"You're probably so hot because you can't afford an aircon. It's 'cause you're poor _Kenneh_, you hear that? Your family's poor, _Kenneh_!" Cartman cut in all of a sudden with an insult. Kenny glared at him, flipping him off automatically. Stan understood Cartman's need to suddenly attack Kenny about his poverty, knowing that it was the only way he could truly deal with the situation.

About thirty minutes later they had settled into a comfortable conversation, with Kenny interjecting every so often when he felt slightly less dizzy. Kyle was leaning against the bed, Stan was lying on the cleanest part of the floor he could find and Cartman had sat on a wobbly chair that threatened to break every so often. Everything seemed as if it were completely normal.

Nobody paid attention to the fact that Kenny was lying on his bed, breathing heavily with his eyes glazed over slightly. There was no sign that there was anything wrong, because it was easier not to think about it if no one brought it up. There was an air of familiarity and closeness as they sat together, all of them feeling as though they were eight-years-old again and simply relaxing and hanging out with no troubles except for the occasional adventure.

At some point, Stan glanced up at the ceiling, his eyes following the cracks in the paint and the tiny insects skittering across the wall. As he watched, a small cockroach scuttled out of a crack and across the glowing red pentagram painted roughly on the…wait a second…_pentagram_?

"Um…Kenny? Why do you have a pentagram on your ceiling?" he asked. Kenny frowned and followed his gaze to the symbol. He did a double take and rubbed his eyes.

Indeed there was a pentagram painted onto the ceiling. It was a deep red color, like blood.

"What the hell is _that_?"

"Holy crap, it's _glowing_! That's fucking creepy, man," Cartman said, stepping away from it nervously. Kyle scrambled to his feet, as well as Stan, and the two of them moved back from it. The symbol had been placed directly over Kenny's bed and the red light was pulsing, flickering in and out of sight. In the silence they could hear a soft humming sound being emitted from the symbol. The pentagram vibrated suddenly and a soft, pained groan escaped Kenny's lips before he could stop himself. His eyes were wide with terror as he stared at the pentagram and he attempted to crawl off the bed.

"It looks like it's controlling him!"

"Get away from it!" Kyle jumped forward, hands grabbing at Kenny's arms roughly. He pulled the boy away, dragging him to the corner of the room. Kenny followed, eyes still trained on the sign. He still seemed tired, but fear had given him the strength to stand.

"I didn't draw that," he said shakily. "I've never seen that before in my life. How…"

The pentagram hissed and slowly began to turn black, miniature, hairline cracks slicing through the redness. The pentagram crusted over, becoming a black shell before their eyes it crumbled to dust and scattered onto the bed. They watched in silence as a seemingly non-existent breeze blew the dust off the covers. Eventually there was no sign that there had ever been anything unusual on the ceiling.

They were silent, too shocked to form any words. Stan didn't understand what the hell had just happened, but he was _pissed off_. Strange things had always happened in South Park, to the four of them especially, but this had truly scared them. This had interfered with their friendship and had caused one of them pain and terror. This was unacceptable to Stan. Being the leader of the group he felt it was his job to protect all of them…except for Cartman. Because, depending on his mood, Cartman just annoyed the shit out of him.

But he was responsible for what happened to Kyle and Kenny. And no matter what happened, he would never let them come to any harm if he could help it. He glanced over at Kenny who was slumped against the wall, eyelids drooping with a content smile on his face.

"Kenny, are you alright?"

"Yeah…I feel…better now. It's not so hot anymore and I don't feel strange. Just kind of…tired, maybe." And with that, he closed his eyes and dozed off, leaning against the redhead. Kyle smiled at Stan, relieved and slightly bemused. But they felt like the danger had passed and they were safe now.

They placed Kenny back on his bed, careful not to wake him. Already the flush to his skin had faded slightly and he seemed much more relaxed. In a rare moment of kindness, Cartman leaned over and lifted the blanket over Kenny. Kyle flashed him a surprised look until he realized that the overweight boy had in fact reached into Kenny's pocket to steal a candy bar. Stan glared at him, but said nothing, too worried about waking Kenny up. Instead he whacked him on the arm, eliciting a yelp.

Cartman stormed out, cursing his bad luck and the other two boys for bringing him there. He was obviously in a bad mood but they just ignored him completely. They were used to his mood swings and just learned to pay no heed to them. Silently, they closed the door behind them and left. Neither of them wanted to talk about what just happened. They felt that simply casting it out of their minds would be the best for everybody. So they walked down the street, laughing wrestling playfully until the incident was completely forgotten.

Neither of them saw the black-haired teen standing next to Kenny's window, watching him fervently. There was a small grin on his face that seemed almost malicious and slightly proud. He leaned forward, narrowing his eyes slightly.

Damien wanted to crow victoriously and run in right now and drag the boy back to his home. He felt exultant, triumphant and most of all he felt like he was finally getting what was owed to him. After he had waited patiently for so long, all he could think about was the moment he would finally feel complete.

He lifted a cigarette to his lips, closing his eyes and smirking slightly. He flicked his black hair out of his eyes and pressed the tip of his finger to the end of the cigarette, lighting it. Sometimes there were just certain perks to being the son of Satan. The power of his mind was a force to be reckoned with. But the things he had to give up somehow made him wish he had been born normal. Like when he watched children playing with their friends, or couple falling in love.

With one last, devoted glance into the room he jumped down, disappearing into the shadows where he belonged.


	2. Unrequited Adoration

**Notes: **I realized that I hadn't put up any notes or comments on my first chapter, for some reason it didn't work. But anyway, this is my first ever South Park and slash story. I began watching South Park obsessively and it is now my favorite TV show and after a long, long hiatus I felt it was worth enough to make the effort to start another story. And this once came to mind and I hope you guy like it.

**Rating: **T

**Pairings: **Undecided as to the outcome but so far KennyxDamien, KennyxCraig, CraigxTweek

And please review, they inspire me to write like a maniac.

Chapter Two

Unrequited Adoration

He could burn him alive from the inside. But then he would have to watch him writhe in agony as he smoldered.

Or maybe he could slice him into millions of pieces. And watch those pieces roll onto the floor.

He could levitate him with the power of his mind and smash him into the ground. But he didn't want to mutilate his body.

Or maybe…

He scowled, slamming his fist into the wall next to him. He felt a repulsive _pop_ and his bones shifted beneath his skin. Leaning his head against the wall, he felt the rough edge press into his skin and as a few minutes passed he felt the slight pressure in his hand as the bones realigned and healed.

Here he was, listing the different ways he could kill the love of his life. He felt disgusted by his very own thoughts and yet the imagination of what would occur once he had executed his plan was enough to drive him to continue. But the thought that he would have to hurt Kenny made him feel like he was plunging a knife into his heart and twisting it repeatedly. And it was a new feeling, considering he rarely ever felt emotion. Only Kenny had ever driven him to feel enough of any sentiment that it would actually affect him physically. Since the moment he had fallen for him he had barely eaten, slept or groomed himself. There was no time to do anything except stalk the hooded boy. It required him to sacrifice a few small things but every second was worth it.

He ran his fingers through his hair, greasy and untamed. He hadn't had time to shower since he had completed the ritual. All his time was spent trying to figure out ways to murder Kenny and he had lost all interest in personal appearance. Which wasn't good at all. When Kenny appeared, he wanted to look at least mildly appealing, so as not to repulse him or send him running off screaming.

He jumped down from the wall, his feet landing lightly on the cement without a single sound. It was broad daylight so he was focused on staying invisible but, in his frantic mood, it was becoming very difficult. Not only that but the cold was beginning to seep through his skin. Living in Hell meant he was used to the searing heat of the smoldering fires, the flames licking at his skin. South Park was currently in the middle of winter and although he was wearing three shirts, a thick sweater, a woolly scarf, a hat and gloves he was still freezing. He felt goose bumps rising on his skin and his limbs trembling weakly. Damn it, he needed to get out of the cold.

He watched as Kenny sat on one of the swings in the playground, chatting joyfully to his friend Stan, who was leaning against the metal frame. Cartman and Kyle were bickering once again, which meant that the other two were ignoring their conversation.

Damien had no strong feelings towards Kenny's friends. The fat one was a complete bastard, even more remarkable than some of the people Damien had met in Hell. And being the son of Satan, he _had _met quite a few inhuman people in his time. Yet Cartman was quite an extraordinary person. Damien would have probably been entertained by his evil plots had he not been constantly distracted by Kenny. Stan and Kyle were not uninteresting, but not really worth watching as they were quite kind-hearted and moral people. And they made Kenny happy, so they _must _have been good people.

Damien neared the group, then stopped, frozen in his tracks by something which ripped his heart in two.

As Craig, Clyde, Token and Tweek approached, Kenny's eyes lit up and a tinge of red tainted his lovely face. The corner of his mouth perked up slightly as Craig approached, muttering something indiscernible. Clyde and Token spoke to Stan and Kyle while Craig and Kenny interacted, the two of them obviously flirting and showing a great deal of interest in each other. Craig leaned over, his lips brushing against Kenny's ear, and whispered something that was enough to make the blond chuckle and blush even brighter.

Damien felt a sickening tug in the pit of his stomach. It was a familiar feeling of agony and fear that was present every time Kenny revealed that he was interested in the tall, good-looking boy. He raised his hand to his chest, clenching his shirt with a vice-like grip. His hands shook with anger as he struggled to contain the hideous jealousy that rose inside of him, consuming his thoughts and body. He wanted to jump forward and tear them apart viciously, in the process smashing Craig's face in until he was unrecognizable and gruesome, so Kenny would never, ever want to be with him again. He wanted to drag Kenny away from the other boy possessively, holding onto him and never letting him escape.

He forced himself to observe the two practically all over each other. At this point Kenny was standing, with Craig's arm around his shoulders and Craig's free hand playing with Kenny's hair. Kenny was pressed against the taller boy (Craig was the tallest in the year, though Kenny was not that far behind), snickering at some joke Craig had made. This simple gesture made Damien feel ill with resentment until finally, unable to stand it, he fell back onto the ground. His legs simply collapsed underneath him and he clutched the ground to support himself. He forced himself to look away, focusing on the rest of Craig's group.

Clyde and Token were conversing amiably with the others, the once prominent rivalry of the two groups obviously having died out a while ago. The chubby boy was laughing with Stan, gesturing as he relayed some joke to him.

Tweek, on the other hand, was simply standing a few feet away, twitching miserably and looking at anything but Craig and Kenny. Once in a while a shriek or a small spastic movement interrupted his silence but the others barely took notice, being so accustomed to his actions. Damien watched him, noticing how he cringed when Craig laughed or paid attention to Kenny. He felt an immediate kinship with the paranoid teen, understanding the pain he was experiencing. Maybe…maybe once Kenny was dead, Tweek would have a chance with Craig. They did seem to be best friends after all, and Craig, with the exception of Kenny, lavished almost all his attention on Tweek. So there was a probability that once Kenny was no longer there, Craig would finally notice Tweek.

Damien wondered desperately whether he even had a chance. Kenny was not even aware of his existence, let alone his adoration. He scowled determinedly. No, he knew that once he had shown the boy how much he loved him, then Kenny would reciprocate his love.

So, how was he going to go about doing it?

Maybe he could shoot him in the head. And end up disfiguring his face.

Or maybe he could…

00000

If there was on thing that Kenny adored, it was the tall, dark-haired boy that he saw every minute of every day. He saw him in school, in class and most of all when he closed his eyes to daydream, he saw Craig behind his eyelids. And then he would feel the strange tingling in his stomach and the blood rushing to his face. There were some moments when he felt so overcome with helpless emotion he would be forced to open his eyes and he would be left shaky and confused.

Kenny had had many sexual relationships. Most of them had been with women, but recently he had begun to explore a whole other sexuality, diving into another world completely. Now women were of little interest to him except for the ones in his pornographic magazines. Even then, he did not care for them much anymore and most had been abandoned under his bed, scattered over the floor in a careless pile.

Now he only ever found himself attracted to men. One of them, especially, he thought about quite often. And whenever he thought about him, he would feel breathless and weak and he loved the feeling.

"Kenny? Are you all right?"

He glanced over to Craig, who was lying back on the bench, arms behind his head and smirking at him. Kenny admired him from where he was before sitting next to him. They were at Stark's Pond, just chilling alone together for the first time. It was the moment he had been waiting for, for three months. At this moment, his heart was slamming against his chest and every time Craig smiled at him he was surprised that it didn't crack open his ribcage.

"Oh, just thinking about stuff," he said vaguely.

"Don't you need a brain to do that?"

"Like you would know," Kenny snorted. Craig laughed, shaking his head. He gestured to the other to join him on the bench and Kenny did so, trying to hide his enthusiasm. Attempting to be smooth, he slid into the seat besides Craig, smiling at him slightly. The taller boy leaned forward, then stopped, eyes twinkling with mischief. Kenny whacked his shoulder playfully before they began scuffling. "Don't pull down the hood! No! _Gah!_" He jumped back as Craig pulled back his hood, revealing his reddened cheeks and messy blonde hair.

"God, you're hot, Kenny," Craig teased. Flushing, Kenny pulled the hood up to cover his face but the other stopped him. He looked at him questioningly for an explanation. "Don't cover up your face when you're with me, please." The plea was made so sincerely that Kenny dropped his arms immediately, not wanting to disobey. Craig flashed him a stunning smile and Kenny cursed the fact that he blushed so easily.

For a few minutes they simply watched the sunset in complete, comfortable silence. The sun peered out from the brim of the horizon, its rays reaching out towards the endless sky. It was in no time at all that the light had finally disappeared and all that was left was the pitch black with few twinkling stars and the glow of the street lamps farther away. Vaguely, Kenny could see the silhouette of Craig's face. The taller boy's hair covered his eyes and his mouth was turned downwards in a saddened expression. Kenny felt something stirring inside, some strange unease that nagged at him, telling him that he knew exactly why Craig was upset.

"What's wrong?" he asked softly. Craig sighed, looking disturbed and slightly annoyed. "Is it…"

"Tweek? Yeah…it's always about Tweek, isn't it?" he said bitterly, shaking his head. "I don't know what's wrong with him. He's being a downright son of a bitch lately. I don't know what's wrong with him."

"What do you mean? What's wrong with him?" Kenny felt a slight twinge of jealousy at seeing how torn up Craig was over his best friend. It wasn't Tweek's fault. On the contrary, Kenny quite liked Tweek considering the fidgeting blond had never done anything to him. But as Tweek was Craig's best friend and the only other person whom he tolerated almost anything from, Kenny felt slightly threatened. Craig had never mentioned feeling anything more than platonic friendship for him, so Kenny really had no right to be resentful but he just couldn't help it when he saw how happy Tweek and Craig were together. He often watched them together. Craig was so…_close_ to Tweek and had no problem with hugging him and putting an arm around him.

It was the same way he acted around Kenny, with the exception of the fact that he was so obviously lusting after Kenny, whereas the interest he showed in Tweek was nonsexual and the one he showed for Kenny was physical. When Kenny had begun developing a huge crush on Craig, during that time he was currently selling his body for money and had the reputation as a man-whore. It was a reputation that was well-deserved, he admitted. He had, after all, lost his virginity at such a young age and then continued to allow people to use his body in order to gain money to pay for food. He had been so hungry and so desperate…

"Ugh it's just…it's complicated, I guess. He hasn't been talking to me lately…at _all_. And when I try to talk to him he snaps at me and gets pissed off. And lately he doesn't eat lunch anymore, just sits and glares at a space in front of him. And I took him away from the others and tried to confront him and he freaking _spazzed_ at me! He starts screaming and wailing and howling and trying to hit me! How am I supposed to know what the fuck is wrong with him if he won't tell me!" he cried. By this point he had jumped up, fists clenched and body trembling with fury.

Kenny stared at him, eyes wide. He hadn't expected Craig to respond to the question like _this_. There was a second where all that could be heard was Craig's heavy breathing. Then he groaned, throwing his hands up in frustration before slumping onto the bench, exhausted by his outburst.

"I hate all this shit," he mumbled.

Craig had never been the type to have huge fights between his friends. Sure he was a troublemaker and had a reputation of pissing people off but once they were angry he just didn't give a damn. He didn't abuse his friendships and although he was often quite short-tempered with people he disliked, with his friends he was laidback and easy going. After so many years, there was no longer any trace of the rivalry that had existed between the two groups.

Especially now that Craig and Kenny were so obviously lusting for each other, there was no point in the hatred they felt, and although they weren't all close friends, in the beginning they were tolerated and now they were considered mildly close, at least to the point where they no longer insulted each other. Excluding Cartman, who hated everybody.

"Maybe you should just…leave him alone," Kenny said. He suddenly realized how blunt that sounded, considering his growing relationship with Craig that statement could be taken in the wrong way. "I mean, give him some time, you know? Maybe he's having problems at home or something."

"But he always told me about his problems. _Everything_. Every time people talked about us it would always be Clyde-and-Token, Craig-and-Tweek. But now it's Clyde-and-Token and Craig and then Tweek. It's like there's a wall between us. He's fucking rude and irritating and I think he's trying to cut me off and the more I resist the more aggressive he gets," he snarled. He ran his fingers through his hair, biting his bottom lip.

"Don't worry about it. It's Tweek. He's probably stressing out and getting paranoid about something. You know how he's like. I'm sure it's nothing."

"Yeah, maybe…" He stood up, stretching and yawning. "Come on, it's getting late. I'll walk you back." Kenny felt his heart quickening its pace again. It felt like his throat was closing up in excitement and there was a strange tingling feeling inside his stomach and his chest. Blood rushed to his face once again. He felt surprised by his sudden reaction after he'd managed to repress them so well during their conversation. He'd never felt like this before in his life. These feelings were completely new and unfamiliar to him.

Before he'd had these sentiments for Craig, he'd been short for money and had found that the only way to solve his problem was to sell himself for cash. In the very beginning he'd felt terrible shame for what he'd been doing, and had never mentioned what happened behind closed doors to his friends. He didn't want to see their looks of disgust and pity, so he'd kept his mouth shut. And he'd managed to support his family with the cash he'd brought in. He felt that sometimes his mother had guessed what he was doing but remained in steadfast denial, even when he handed her the mysterious wads of cash that had come from nowhere. He thought that maybe she was just grateful that for once she was able to actually put food on the table.

It had begun when he was fifteen and he had slept with a woman of about nineteen. Upon waking he found her standing over him, demanding payment for her 'services'. He had received two things that day: a very painful, swollen black eye and the realization that if he were in the same line of work as her he would finally be able to earn some money for himself. And so he began to demand payment for certain acts and found himself humiliated and mortified, but he couldn't stop.

Until he'd fallen in love with Craig. And now he couldn't bear the touch of another person. He'd given up all the money he was receiving and begun to pursue the slightly older boy, enamored with him. And it was only about three months ago that Craig had suddenly walked up to him in front of all his friends and asked if he wanted to hang out after school. After nearly fainting with happiness he had agreed.

And now they were here. They were not dating, but there was the beginning of something. If possible, he had fallen for Craig even more than before and now he could no longer stop himself from thinking about him constantly. Craig often graced him with a smile or a hug and lately he'd even begun to give him a few daring kisses. Nothing more had happened, but mostly because something seemed to be holding them back. Kenny felt that it was the fact that he didn't want his relationship with Craig to simply be a sexual experience, but something more.

And Kenny felt that Craig was holding back because of…he hated to admit it, but _Tweek_. He knew that Craig was holding back because of his friend, but he wasn't sure why.

"Has it seriously been two years since you've died?" Craig asked. Kenny thought deeply. The topic was quite sensitive to him, mostly because he'd never really thought about it. He didn't like dying, see. It wasn't really that fun.

"Yes. About two years. You wouldn't believe how grateful I am," he said. "Dying and being resurrected is a shit experience and I'm glad that it's over with. I'm pretty sure that the next time I die, it'll be permanent."

"What's it like? Dying, I mean."

"It's…difficult to explain. In the beginning, it wasn't so bad because I would die and then I'd just end up in Hell. Sure, there would be the excruciating pain before some deaths, which was usually the worst part. But then I'd usually end up in Hell, which is a pretty fun place actually. Of course, that's only if your on Satan's good side. I visited so often he usually allowed me to stay at his house for the night before returning," he said. Craig's mouth twitched in amusement. "He had a son too, Damien. Do you remember him?"

"Sounds vaguely familiar…was he in our class once?"

"Yeah, for about a day. He's pretty quiet and keeps to himself most of the time. He doesn't have a lot of friends, mostly because his dad doesn't like him hanging out with some of the evil bastards in Hell. He thinks that they're a bad influence on him. Ironic, isn't it? I've seen him lose his temper though and he seems pretty violent and bad-tempered when people annoy him. I used to stay away from him because he freaked me out, even though Satan was always trying to get us to be friends," he explained. Listening to himself, he sounded absolutely crazy. And if this wasn't South Park and if all the weird things didn't happen here, no one would have believed him and he would be considered absolutely crazy. But this was South Park, and they had all seen the devil and met Damien and nothing was ever too strange for them.

"You still haven't told me what's so bad about dying," Craig said. Kenny was silent as they walked. His shoes scuffed against the pavement softly and he plucked at a string that proved his hooded parka was much too worn out now. But of course, he was too poor to afford a new one. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to." The words were hurried, but Kenny put up his hand to silence him.

"I just couldn't take it anymore…the constant dying. I would always miss out on everything that happened here, and while everyone I knew was building friendships or relationships I was being hit by cars or bludgeoned to death and then I would have to wait in _line _for hours on end, waiting until I reached the end of the line, knowing that I was just going to be doing this the next day. And Hell isn't a beautiful place, you know. When you're waiting in line you have to watch everybody get tortured and screaming and crying in pain. Sure, they have drunken parties and lots of fun, but when you're in Hell for a long time you forget what you see in the line. I didn't, I had to stand and wait by the screaming people every single day and I just couldn't take it anymore. And the pain of being resurrected is pretty much as bad as the pain of dying. I couldn't do it, so I found a way to stop dying."

There were so many unanswered questions, so many unvoiced thoughts that traveled between them. Kenny let his blond hair shield his eyes, so he wouldn't have to look at the other boy. He didn't know what Craig was thinking, and wasn't sure that he wanted to know. Maybe he thought that Kenny was a freak and was having second thoughts about their blossoming relationship. Maybe he didn't want to-

His thoughts were interrupted when a hand slipped around his waist and lips landed on his lightly. He felt himself melt, leaning forward and wrapping his arms around Craig's neck. The older boy increased the pressure on his lips, slightly more aggressive now that Kenny had responded. The blond was lost in bliss as the older boy wrapped arms around his waist and began to move lower, kissing his neck and his lips. Some where in his delight, he felt a tingle of pleasure; he loved it when people kissed his neck. He was very sensitive around that area and only people who he really cared about were allowed to do that.

Just as he was running his hands through Craig's hair, lifting his hat to throw it to the ground, there was the sound of glass shattering and of wood snapping viciously and they both drew away from each other, panting heavily and completely shocked. Kenny looked behind Craig and saw the window of the house behind him had exploded – glass flying everywhere. They were too far to be hit. And somehow the trees in near the pond had snapped, branches falling to the ground.

"Dude, what the hell just happened?" he blurted, completely surprised, as he saw no one in sight.

"I don't know, but whatever it is, it's creeping me out. Let's go," Craig muttered, pulling him. In a few minutes the two boys had forgotten the incident and were scuffling playfully, once in a while stealing quick, unexpected kisses from the other until they disappeared down the street.

They had been wrong when they had assumed that there was no one else there. Damien was standing next to the pond, fists clenched in sickened rage and face tight with hurt and fury. His teeth were gritted together so hard his head pounded from the pain. The tree next to him began to crack down the middle, like a lightning bolt had struck it dead center and was shredding through the wood. He had nearly been consumed by his jealousy as he had watched them together, flirting and kissing and…he squeezed his eyes shut and a few tears of rage escaped his eyes. They immediately evaporated from the heat of his body.

He had to be careful; there was a slight chance his skin would burst into flame, which was quite possible considering it had happened when his temper had gotten out of control. He fell to his knees, turning his anger towards himself.

"_No one likes a self-pitying little pussy. Pull yourself together_," he snarled commandingly. And slowly, the envy faded into slight regret. Every time he closed his eyes he saw them entangled in an embrace and it drove him crazy inside. Not just that Kenny was already captivated by another, incredibly attractive boy – even Damien could admit that Craig was incredibly handsome – but the thought that if he tore Kenny away from him, he would be embittered his the loss of the one he cared for…maybe even _loved. _

And then he would never find it in himself to feel for Damien the way he felt for Craig. The thought tore into him like a blunt knife and he staggered to his feet, deciding that he was done for the day. He needed to return home and curl up in his bed and forget about today. The thought that he might have to live with this unrequited love was too much for him to handle.

He finally decided the way Kenny would die. It wouldn't be suspicious, it wouldn't be special our anything out of the ordinary.

It would just be a regular, everyday death.


	3. Regular, Everyday Death

**Notes: **I like how this chapter turned out – it's a pretty long one. I spent ages on it but it was worth it considering how quickly I'm putting it up. I've wasted so much time during class writing this. Not really responsible, considering my exams are coming up. But yeah, thanks for all the reviews I really appreciated them and I almost exploded with excitement every time I got one, so if you take the time to review, I'd really appreciate it.

Wow, this is the most enthusiastic about a story I've ever been. I can't promise how long it'll be, or whether I'll complete this one day or not, but South Park deserves so much more respect than that. Plus I have my two friends to kick my ass if I don't keep writing. Love you guys :D.

**Rating: **T

**Pairings: **Same as before…or are they?

Chapter Three

Regular, everyday death

If there was one thing Damien hated, it was emotion. And not just any type of emotion.

_Love. Pain. Anger. Sadness. Longing. Envy. Torment. Disappointment. Shame. Hurt. Anxiousness. Jealousy. _

He could have listed many, many more and he would have measured his degree of hatred for each of them. Because the son of Satan did _not _feel emotions. The son of Satan did _not _lie in his bed, gripping the bed sheets in frustration and every once in a while turning to punch the wall besides him. He felt bitter, annoyed at the fact that he was letting himself get like this. His emotional stability had slowly deteriorated over the two years he'd been obsessed with Kenny. Now his emotional range had extended beyond his control and he was constantly frenzied with panic and worry.

All he ever did was obsess over Kenny. There was almost no break in between sleeping and spying on the boy. Once in a while he would spend time doing things such as playing his videogames or taking a quick walk around the seventh layer of Hell, but it was only now that he realized how ultimately empty his life was. Before Kenny came, all he had ever done was play games and eat and sleep and watch people getting tortured. Now at least, he had an ambition.

He had once possessed a deep desire to go to school like other children and make friends and fit in with everyone else. His father had pulled him out of school at the age of nine and since then he'd known no other life except for the constant boredom associated with being the devil's son. Sadly, until the day he reigned as the new Prince of Darkness, he would have no true role or place in Hell or Earth.

But his ascension to the throne would require his father dying. And since his father was immortal, he figured he had about an eternity to wait until he could finally do something.

"Arrow," he snapped suddenly. Before his eyes, a man of burly stature appeared before him in a cloud of red smoke. He was holding a cigarette in one hand and twirling a gun in the other and was casually awaiting his orders.

"Yes, _my Lord_?" His voice was sarcastic and degrading, earning him a sharp glare from the other.

"Tomorrow, I want you to go to The Line. Waiting there will be a blond boy in an orange parka. I want you to take him out of the line and bring him to my living room. I will meet up with him there. You will _not _mention that I was involved in any of this, do you understand?"

"I understand. Why do you want to see him?" Arrow put the gun back in its holster and snapped his fingers. A flame burst from the end of his finger and he lit his cigarette calmly.

"That's none of your business."

"Maybe I'll make it my business. Maybe I'll tell your father what you're up to," he drawled, the hint of a threat hidden in his voice. Damien scowled but didn't take the bait.

"Maybe I'll tell my father about you taking human form and murdering seven people in your fucked up bank robbery. After all, I _know _he's still on the lookout for who managed to slip through his authority and ignore his laws. Who knows, the secret might just…_slip out_ while I'm talking to him," he answered casually. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his own cigarette.

Arrow's eyes narrowed dangerously, but he knew he'd been defeated. "Any other orders, _my Lord_?"

"Yes. Take Marcus and Vivian with you. I want you to defend him if a riot breaks out in The Line. You know how impatient these humans are."

"As you wish." These words were forced out through gritted teeth before he burst into a red cloud of smoke and disappeared. Damien cursed softly, annoyed by the defiance of his lackey and lit his cigarette.

Cigarettes helped him feel less stressed, especially when he was alone. Because when he was alone, he had absolutely nothing to do except think about…him. He had no other life except for the one that revolved around Kenny.

He turned on the television, immediately setting the channel to South Park. It was an automatic reaction to seeing the television turned on. He would spy on the residents of South Park, usually Kenny, of course, but once in a while he would watch the others when he was trying to suppress his emotions. The residents of South Park were a lot more interesting than other people in the world. There was always something strange happening in the town that was entertaining. Not enough to keep his mind off the object of his adoration, but enough to stop the heartbreaking doubt that would enter his mind when he didn't see Kenny.

He found himself watching the twitching boy, Tweek. He was the only other person that he could truly relate to and in fact understand. Tweek could often be seen staring longingly at Kenny's current love interest. He and Damien were one, in that they spent most of their time obsessed with those that had stolen their hearts.

Years ago, Damien would have scoffed at Tweek's vulnerability. He would have seen the trembling boy as completely inferior and mentally ridiculed him, watching him slowly crumble and fade under the pressure of his newfound, powerful feelings. And he would have stood by, doing and feeling absolutely nothing. But now, being the emotional pussy he was, he couldn't tear his eyes away from the frail boy. He wanted to reach out to him and comfort him, tell him of the plan he had formulated in order to allow the two of them to make their imagination a reality. He wanted to console and reassure him that once Kenny was dead, Craig would finally no longer be blinded by his powerful lust and would see that his best friend was something so much more.

Damien watched intensely as Tweek stood in front of the mirror, clad only in jeans and examining himself. His hands reached up to grasp his hair, pulling at it stressfully.

"_NGH! _C-C-Craig only likes – _gah!_ – guys like Kenny," Tweek said, trying to suppress the stutter in his voice. "N-Not guys like me. I have to t-try and be as cool as Kenny then. _Oh Jesus! It's too much pressure! _I can't do that!" He tugged at his hair once again and Damien mused at how he wasn't completely bald. He also noted that he was significantly thinner than two years ago, which was quite chilling considering Tweek had been one of the skinniest boys in his class. And now his ribs created shadows on his skin.

He watched the young boy breathe in and out deeply, scowling at his reflection and trying to suppress his uncontrollable tremors. He seemed to manage for a second, the succumbed with an angry "_God damn it!_" before flopping onto his bed. Damien's hand tightened around the remote and he shut the television off. He was so sick of understanding people's suffering. He hated that he felt sympathy for Tweek. He hated being such a weakling.

He used to be emotionless and used to have the ability to cut himself off from the world. He had distanced himself from all humanity and managed to be so detached that even seeing the worst of suffering would never affect him. He had seen the most merciless and vicious form or torture and brutality and it had never occurred to him to feel sympathy for the victims.

Now, he still didn't feel much when he saw people writhing from physical pain, but his heart clenched when he saw those suffering from emotional pain. People who suffered from love were people he empathized with. And he hated that he'd turned into such a…_human. _

"Okay, now I've just got to suck it up and stop putting it off," he muttered. He looked down at the seven cards placed face down on the table. The seven cards had, on the other side, a possible death for Kenny that would be the ones he would find bearable. He didn't have as much control over death as his father. He could control _how _the person died, but not the details of the situation. So he had written seven very common deaths and decided that the one he picked would be the manner in which Kenny was expelled from Earth.

He reached down and picked a card.

00000

"What up, Kenny? You've got a weird look on your face," Stan said, carefully examining Kenny. The four of them were sitting at the lunch table, with Cartman stuffing himself as usual and Kenny picking at his food. This was a very rare occasion, considering that he ate almost no meals at home, therefore making up for his hunger by shoveling food down his throat with free lunches. But today he was distracted, moving his food around with his fork. There was a small grin on his face that just wouldn't fade away.

"Hm? Oh, no, I'm fine," he answered vaguely.

"He's just worrying 'cause his family's poor and his parents are dumb drunkards," Cartman snapped rudely. Kenny didn't say anything, but his smile widened slightly. "_Kenneh?_ Did you hear me? You're family's poor, _Kenneh! Goddamnit! You're family's fucking poor, Kenneh!_" Suddenly resembling his childhood self he clenched his fists and slammed them against the table angrily when Kenny didn't respond to his abuse.

"I think I know why Kenny's acting strangely," Kyle chuckled. The others looked at him questioningly and he motioned his head towards the other table, where Craig, Clyde and Token sat eating and chatting happily. Well, Clyde and Token were deep in conversation while Craig was glancing over at their table every once in a while. As Kenny turned his head to look over, Craig grinned at him and gave him a small wave, causing Kenny to blush slightly and quickly moved his gaze to Kyle who was sitting in front of him. Kyle winked at him suggestively and Kenny narrowed his eyes.

"Don't…say…a word," he snarled. Kyle laughed.

"I didn't say anything."

"Yeah, but you were thinking of saying something," Kenny challenged.

"Prove it." Kyle flicked a pea at him teasingly, which Kenny swatted away.

"Shut the hell up, you dumb Jew!" Cartman interjected. Kyle shot him a vicious glare and looked ready to lunge at him. Stan held onto his friend's arm in a familiar automatic movement, trapping him in his seat. Kyle's face was burning as red as his hair, but even as he looked at Stan pleadingly, his best friend shook his head warningly. He groaned in frustration before turning back to Kenny.

"Did something happen between you and Craig yesterday?" he asked. Kenny's silence seemed to be answer enough. "Wow, it must have been pretty special. Usually you can't wait to brag about your conquests."

"What, like that time I bagged that ice queen exchange student?" he said. "Oh man, she was hot wasn't she?" The other three nodded in agreement, staring dreamily into empty space.

Kenny's mind traveled back to all of his other triumphs. The many girls he had encountered during his younger years when he'd suddenly sprouted into an incredibly attractive, incredibly lustful boy who had made it his one ambition to bed every girl in high school, excluding the ugly ones. He had succeeded in sleeping with most of the girls, most of them requiring little effort as women succumbed so easily to his charm. A few of them had resisted in the beginning and he'd found that these had been the most interesting.

To give her some credit, Wendy had in fact been the most difficult challenge. It had taken about three months in order to finally persuade her. He gone through a huge effort to keep her last, knowing that she would have the most self-dignity to restrain herself. Especially once he had acquired a certain reputation for himself – although to be honest, he had kept most of his conquests between himself and his three friends – it was more difficult for girls to give in, knowing that they were nothing special to him.

But Wendy had been smart and when he had shown sudden interest in her after having run through all the other girls, she had immediately assumed that he had simply wanted to get into her pants. And she had indeed been correct; when he'd begun charming her all he'd had on his mind was what was under her clothes. But after the constant rejections and fucked up mind games, a strange sort of respect had grown and eventually, once he'd finally gotten her into bed, he had continued the relationship for another month, just in order to allow her the pride of not having been a one night stand.

And also because Stan had insisted that Kenny treat his ex-girlfriend with some dignity. It was a demand he had complied with and when the two had finally broken up, it was on good terms in which neither of them had felt used or hurt. And also the fact that Stan had demanded this whilst holding a knife to his neck had helped the situation, although that was a story for another day.

"Hey guys." A voice interrupted the silence and they all turned to face Clyde, who was standing at the end of the table with his lunch tray. He set it down before smiling at them, looking excited as he produced eight tickets from his pocket. "I have the best news you will ever hear in your whole life."

"What do you want, Clyde?" Cartman snapped. Clyde ignored him, looking at the other three.

"I have...in my hand, tickets to the greatest concert there ever was and ever will be. _Eight _tickets. For _eight _people. Four of those tickets are for me, Token, Craig and Tweek. The other four are…well, I guess I haven't decided yet," he mused. Their jaws dropped in amazement.

"_You _have tickets to see _The Raging Pussies_?" Kyle whispered. Clyde's smug grin was answer enough. "You _son of a bitch_. How the _hell _did _you _get tickets to see _The Raging Pussies_?" The others were too stunned to say anything.

"My dad knows a guy who knows the band, and his family didn't want to go so I got four extra tickets, including the ones he gave my dad. And since my family isn't a fan of them, I decided to bring my friends along. But now, I have four spare tickets and…well…I just don't know what to do with them. Any chance you guys could help me?" he asked innocently.

"Give those to me!" Kenny cried, lunging forward to reach them, but Clyde lifted his hand so they were out of reach, smirking haughtily.

"What's the magic word?" he teased.

"I'll fucking kick you in the nuts!" Cartman shrieked, his face turning red with anger. Clyde laughed as he began to whine like a child, balling up his fists and hitting the table. "The nuts, _Clyde_, the nuts!"

"Oh come on, Clyde, don't be a spoilsport," Stan said. The brown-haired boy sniggered and then handed him the tickets. He held them as if they were a fragile treasure, eyes shining with pure happiness. He couldn't stop a few small squeaks of happiness from escaping his lips.

"Oh my God, oh my _God_!" he giggled. "I can't believe it. The tickets were completely sold out! Oh God, oh God." He high-fived his friends, not including Cartman who was still glaring evilly at Clyde, before settling down and handing a ticket to each of his friends. "Okay you guys, this is a chance in a lifetime. You don't show up, it's your loss, got it? Oh man, this is going to be awesome!"

"Okay, so here's the plan," Clyde said, slipping into the seat next to Kyle. "We're driving down to the concert on Friday, which is next week. My dad's letting me use his car and Token's dad doesn't mind us using his other car, which Token will drive. But what my dad _doesn't_ know is that Craig's going to be driving his car, not me. You cool with that?"

They nodded eagerly. Craig had gotten his license a few months ago and he and Token were the best drivers out of the eight of them. Craig often picked Kenny up and drove him around willingly, which Kenny was eternally grateful for because he was unable to afford a taxi or even the bus sometimes.

Even though nine years had passed, he still lived in utter poverty with drunken fighting parents and food he stole from the supermarket. His brother had gotten the hell out of there once he'd become a legal age and his sister had gotten pregnant and run off with the man of her dreams. He'd never heard from either of them and his parents refused to acknowledge that they had had any children except for Kenny. It was a complete change considering before when he'd always been the one to disappear and he'd be down in Hell while his mother was tucking his brother and sister into bed.

Everyday became a countdown for them. Kenny pulled his half-shredded calendar from his box of old toys. The calendar was the wrong date and he'd already jacked off to all the swimsuit models of each month but it didn't matter. He wrote in the big date and every time he returned home from school he ticked off another day. His excitement was clear to his parents and when he asked for their permission to go they granted it to him immediately.

They would meet up in class and high-five each other, getting more and more excited as the days passed by until finally the clock ticked four in the afternoon and they were all packed up and ready to go.

Kenny was leaning on Clyde's father's car, watching as the others arrived. They were all pumped full of energy and feeling completely hyper as they waited for Token to arrive with his vehicle. Kenny, Kyle, Stan and Cartman were standing in the driveway, chatting amiably about nothing in particular.

Cartman was in a particularly good mood due to the circumstances and had only called Kyle a "Jew rat" once, which had provoked a sharp yet teasing comeback. Neither of the two enemies was thinking of provoking the other and Kenny was incredibly grateful. He didn't want his trip ruined by their incessant bickering. He was willing to put up with it in school but a lifetime of their fighting was enough to drive him absolutely crazy.

"Did you talk to Wendy? I saw you guys walking together in the hall," Kyle said.

"You bet we talked. She came up to me after lunch all serious and said she wanted to talk to me. When we were alone she started saying stuff like how she missed me and felt like she never got over me. She said that all the other guys she went out with were just a phase where she was trying to forget about me and some stuff like that," he said. He was trying to talk casually but couldn't keep the smile off his face. He suddenly resembled the eight-year-old boy with a crush that Kenny hadn't seen in so many years. "She didn't say it, but I think she wants to get back together again!"

His enthusiasm spilled through his words and he grinned. Years of him lingering in the side, watching as Wendy moved from boy to boy had emotionally shredded him. Ever since their relationship had ended in grade five she had been going from guy to guy whereas he had given up on anything that could even resemble a romantic relationship. Her character towards her boyfriends had been cold and distant and soon it had become something of a challenge to get into her pants and be the one to "de-virginize" her, so to speak.

Much to Stan's utter dismay, she had finally given into Kenny's charm and it had caused a huge rift between Stan and Kenny. Stan had always secretly wanted to be the first man she had ever bedded, and _Kenny _had gotten to her first. It had infuriated him beyond reason, but now it was almost forgotten, all something in the past.

"Congratulations, man! It's what you've been waiting for!" Kyle said.

"It _is_. It is what I've been waiting for. And for so long, dude, I was going to give up hope." There was a breathless pause. He glanced at Kenny. A strange, mutual understanding passed between them and the corners of their mouths twitched. "I knew she would come round. _I knew it._"

"Yeah, whatever, Stan. We have more important things to worry about right now, like where the rest of those black assholes are," Cartman snapped. "Where are the others? They're going to make us late. I swear, if we miss _The Raging Pussies_ because of those guys I'll kick them in the nuts!"

"You always say that and you never do it," Kenny sighed. They all looked up as Clyde exited his house, throwing his bag into the car. His face was flushed red with happiness and he looked slightly winded.

"Can you believe it's Friday? _I_ can't believe it; I thought today would never come!" he said. "Look, the others are here." He pointed out the gorgeous silver car that was pulling up in the driveway. Token's father's car could not be more conspicuous. The three of them stepped out of the car. Well, Token stepped out casually whereas Craig's legs were wobbling and Tweek simply fell out of his seat, twitching.

"_Ngh – _Jesus Christ! T-T-Token, you drive like a – _GAH!_ – maniac!" he shrieked, scrambling onto his feet. "I'm _not_ r-riding with – _erk _– him! No way, man! _Jesus Christ!_" He was paler than usual and his trembling was going beyond what they had ever seen. Token simply grinned cheekily and spun the key ring around his finger.

"That's fine, Tweek, you can come in my car. I'll take Kenny as well," Craig stated. Clyde threw him the keys.

"Stan, Kyle and Clyde are coming with me. _You're _taking Cartman," Token said. Craig's mouth pulled down in reluctant agreement and he nodded. Tweek looked absolutely miserable at the thought of having to be stuck between a couple who couldn't keep their hands off each other and Cartman.

Craig put an arm around Kenny's shoulder and mumbled into his ear, "Sit in the front with me, okay?"

"Of course I will," was the reply. Craig sat in the driver's seat and Kenny jumped in the seat next to him, leaving Tweek and Cartman in the back. Craig was the one who knew where the concert was, so he began to drive, looking behind to see if the others were following. He drove at a pace that was neither too quick or too slow, still shaken by his experience in the car with Token. And he knew that if he drove too fast Tweek would probably hyper ventilate and pass out.

After a few minutes of driving in a comfortable silence Craig pointed to the mountains.

"We're driving through those, and it's a pretty long trip – a few hours maybe. The road's pretty windy so if anyone get's carsick tell me now so we can pull over. If anyone waits until it's too late to tell me, I will _destroy_ you," he snarled.

"_Gah!_"

"Anyone have anything to eat?" Cartman demanded. He leaned forward and reached for Craig's bag but his hand was slapped away roughly. Craig glared at him in the rearview mirror, eyes narrowed. "_Ay!_ What's the big idea?"

"Don't touch the goddamn food. It's only been about ten minutes. Can't you just wait a bit?"

"I'm starving here! I'm a growing boy and I need my food!"

"If you eat now we're going to run out."

"Don't be such a faggot, Craig, I said I'm hungry!"

Kenny sniggered as Craig and Cartman began to fight. He settled back into his chair, pushing the seat back until he was practically lying flat against Cartman's stomach. The fat boy screamed and struggled until he finally squeezed out, pressing Tweek against the door. The blond shrieked and spazzed, digging his nails into Cartman's skin angrily. Kenny laughed delightedly, stretching and yawning in a mocking gesture.

He turned to see Craig, who was leaning back comfortably with his eyes half-lidded and his hand placed limply on the steering wheel. One thing he liked about Craig was that, despite his short temper, he knew how to simply relax and enjoy life. He was a troublemaker, it was true, and had an attitude problem with most authority figures but he didn't find it in himself to make an effort to care about what people think. When he hated someone he would tell them and he was never two-faced in that sense. There was no pretending, with Craig, simply brutal honesty that made him hated by those who didn't know him and loved by those who did.

Cartman and Tweek simply sat in silence as Kenny and Craig spoke. As time passed, Kenny decided to look back and noticed that Tweek had fallen asleep on Cartman's shoulder and the chubby boy's mouth was slightly open and eyes closed. His eyelids were fluttering and Kenny felt slightly grateful that he didn't know what Cartman was seeing in his dreams.

"Okay, this is going to sound really cheesy but I need you to just bear with me, okay?" he muttered, not wanting to wake the others up. The car jolted slightly as they went over a pothole and Kenny found himself shaking slightly. His words came out with a slight fervor that seemed almost desperate. "Have you ever gotten that feeling, that maybe someone is just…_there_?" He realized how badly phrased that was and for a few seconds he tried to sort out the jumble of his mind in order to form a correct or at least comprehensible sentence.

Craig shot him a confused glance. He gripped the steering wheel tightly, as if aware of the sudden seriousness of the topic. He angled his head so he could glance at his more-than-friend in the eyes.

It was strange how sometimes a person wouldn't realize something was even wrong until they said it out loud. And suddenly, they would notice certain things that they had missed before. Like the shadow of someone a few meters away, crouched and unmoving, or the sound of near-silent footsteps against the sidewalk or even just that strange intuition that there was something not quite right. It was strange, like the feeling of another presence, and suddenly they would realize that their audience had just expanded and they were talking to just one more person.

It was how Kenny was feeling at this very moment – as if suddenly every past situation he'd been in was tainted by the presence of another person. Even his private moments, such as when he was in his room or when he was with Craig seemed to be defiled by the existence of an intruder.

"I feel as if someone's been there in the past few months. Someone I don't know and who doesn't want me to know he…or she is there."

"What, like, in your head?" Craig obviously thought that Kenny was experiencing some strange sort of hallucinations. Kenny shook his head vigorously, feeling a sense of frustration growing inside of him. How could he convey something that he wasn't even sure about himself?

"No, just…I mean, like someone's following you, watching you, intruding in your life without you knowing it. I know it's strange, but these past few months I feel like I've never been alone."

"Of course you're not alone. You have me," Craig said cheekily. His statement broke the tension and Kenny slapped him teasingly on the shoulder.

"That was sickeningly cheesy and you know it."

"You want me. You're trying not to admit it but you want me _bad_." Kenny glared at him, knowing that Craig was just loving this. He was a playful character, but he only showed it either around his best friends – like Tweek, Clyde and Token – and lately, Kenny. He was the kind of person who was very selective when it came to giving someone attention, but the people that he cared about knew how much they meant to him. And when he was pissed off they were well aware of it. In other words, Craig Tucker did not have secrets and did not tell lies. Why? Because he wasn't afraid of what people thought.

"Okay, I admit it. If you weren't driving this car, I-"

Cartman snorted in his sleep, lifting up a hand and swatting away some invisible flies. His mouth was still open and some drool had leaked out onto his chin and his head was tilted back, revealing his double chin, which had faded slightly over time but was still prominent.

"Oh, that's _sexual_. You see that? _That's_ the kind of guy I could fall for," Kenny said, smirking. "If you can reach up to Cartman's standards, then I can be with you."

"What are you-?" Craig caught sight of Cartman and his lips twitched. Then a soft snigger escaped him and suddenly he was laughing hysterically. Kenny tried to hold back his own laughter but he failed miserably and found tears escaping the corners of his eyes.

There was a strange note in his laughter, one that was strained and joyous at the same time, almost like the last laugh of a man who knows it's the end and simply wishes to have one more moment of pure joy. And Kenny felt that, like a sudden feeling of terror that froze him and his laughter.

They were reaching a curve on the mountain and he wanted to tell Craig to turn back, beg him to hit the brakes and just stop the whole trip because something was going to happen.

Everything suddenly became strangely clear before his eyes, and he could see every detail of what was happening. He saw the rock on the mountainside – a few meters above them – tremble violently, before breaking off. It rolled down the hill, picking up speed as it traveled and sending dirt flying into the air. He watched as it hit a small bump before flying and slamming onto the road, bouncing up. In a strange curved motion it rolled and smashed into the windshield, which burst into a white, zigzag blossom of patterns.

"_Holy Shit!" _Craig jolted with terror and slammed his foot on the brake. The car was going too fast and screeched as it skidded against the road. At that very moment Kenny remembered the exposed curve and felt the car tumbling forward. A strangled scream was trapped in his throat as he glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Token's car halting.

Then they fell into oblivion. Kenny felt his head slam against the steering wheel upon impact, vision blurring in and out rapidly. A sharp pain exploded in the front of his head and he felt completely distorted by the agony. The car continued to turn over and over and his body was flung like a rag doll against the side window. A spider web of cracks appeared on the glass and he saw droplets of blood splash against the sides of the car.

He suddenly came to a painful realization that it was his own blood being smeared against the doors. A splitting ache slit down the back of his head when he was slammed against the door once again. The car tumbled over, dents appearing in the metal structure from the impacts. There was a metal screech as the car snagged against the tree and dragged against the ground. Kenny fell back and his hand caught onto soft material – Craig's shirt.

His fingers fumbled and slipped against the slick metal of the door as he attempted to open it. His fingernails scratched against the handle desperately and suddenly he lurched forward. His head cracked against the windshield, followed by the rest of his body that careened out of the metal box that was the instrument of his death.

As his body crumpled onto the ground in a still heap he somehow managed to hear Stan and Kyle screaming his name in vain until everything faded into nothingness.


	4. The Arrival

Chapter Four

The Arrival

"He's crazy! That's what he is, crazy!" These words spurred an angry twitch from the young man, whose bones seem to rattle from every tremor that shook through him. His thin frame seemed too fragile to support the violent shaking, yet somehow he continued to stand upright, gesturing wildly with a deep scowl on his face.

"What do you expect from the brat? Kid's a selfish little fucker," Arrow murmured, lighting up another cigarette with the expert flick of his fingers. "You guys have only been working for him for a year – I've had the son of a bitch ordering me around for twelve." The child in jeans and a hooded jumper scoffed at him, then turned away. She was sitting on the railing of the bridge, left leg swinging below her. She was intently watching the 3-D screen in which three people were being tortured vividly by creatures of Hell. It was quite a disturbing welcome to all the newcomers, and very effective considering how they all stared wide-eyed and mesmerized by the screams and wails of the victims.

She looked down at what resembled an airport terminal, except that it was enormous – the size of a football stadium. There were rows and rows of seat in the stadium and each and every one of them was filled by people. Thousands of people just sitting and waiting until they reached the end of the line where the two bulky, seven foot guards were standing in front of the glowing red door. There was a doctor standing in front of the door as well as a lawyer and the two of them were currently working on a hell bound man. The doctor was examining him while the lawyer was firing question after question with merciless severity.

The young girl, who had a nametag with the word 'Vivian' on it, jumped off the railing and onto the ground. She nudged Marcus' laptop with her foot, provoking a shriek of annoyance.

"Don't _touch _the laptop! Don't even come _near _the laptop, do you understand? You see this area around the laptop? This is forbidden. For-_bid_-den, you got that?" he shrieked motioning to his laptop. She stared at him, eyebrows raised.

"All right," she said, moving away. Under her breath she added, "You _freak_." Marcus shot her a look of pure irritation before turning back to his laptop.

"Look, could you just hurry up and hack into the damn lists? I'm getting sick of waiting." Arrow spat. "I want to get this kid, give him to Lord retard and then get on with my non-life in peace. I'm sick of running errands for this kid and playing the good butler. I want to get back in the fold – torture some sinners and strip the prisoners of all hope and whatnot, you know?"

"At least Damien will be distracted for a while," Vivian said. They other two flipped her off without even looking up. She jumped back on the railing, staring at them with innocent, wide eyes. "With his new toy he won't bother us anymore and we'll be free to…you know, wreak havoc."

"That's not enough. I want to kill the brat, to cause him misery and make him regret the day he ratted me out to his dad," Arrow snarled. "I'm going to make him beg, one day. He's going to sob for forgiveness and I will watch him and enjoy every second of it." His eyes closed as he imagined that day clearly in his mind. Vivian stared at him. Of all the people who had joined the ranks of Satan's Army, Arrow was one of the few that had done it by choice, by throwing himself into the fold and truly adoring his work. He was the sort of person who was too bad even for Hell.

"The kid's going to arrive in three minutes in Line 675 – car accidents," Marcus said.

"I thought that Damien would have gone for a more chaotic death but I guess I was wrong. The standard car crash seems…strange, but I never know what he's thinking," Vivian mused. She tied her hair back from her face, hands combing through her brown locks, before cracking her knuckles. "Come on, we've got some work to do. You know how he'll get if we're late."

"Son of a bitch. Let him wait, I want to see what's so special about this kid."

"What?"

Arrow dropped his cigarette over the railing. He waited and listened, smirking as a sudden squeal of pain was heard when contact was made. "I want to see what's so special about this kid that makes the little fucktard care so much that he'd give up everything just to watch him day and night for two years."

"Are you serious? He watches him day and night? When does he sleep? Eat?" Marcus spluttered. He shut his computer and unplugged it. The laptop whirred softly before the noise faded, leaving only the murmur of human voices. People didn't talk loudly in the terminal.

Arrow shrugged, lighting up another cigarette. "Damien's had plenty of crushes on people on Earth, but what makes this kid so unique? I'm interested to find out." He sneered down at the crowd. All of them had resigned to their fate, dully watching the screens with a few of them even crying. Some came in fighting but were quickly discouraged by the hundreds of burly guards around the airport terminal. The ones that fought were beaten within an inch of their lives and thrown down and whipped in front of all the others. In fact, looking down now, the three of them spotted a few people with shredded, bloody shirts. They had the most resigned looks on their faces.

"It's so _romantic,_" Vivian sighed. Her eyes lighted up with childish, girly wonder and she sighed, pouting slightly. "He's in _love_ with the boy in the orange parka."

At that moment, a commotion began. A shrill, furious scream burst from one of the lines of the terminal – Line 675. Arrow stumbled as he ran to the edge, looking over the railing and searching desperately for the source of the chaos. Marcus chuckled, his eyes wide and crazy once more.

"Holy shit, it's him. It the boy in the orange parka!"

00000

If he could compare the experience to something, it would probably be his birth. A sudden expulsion from something warm and comforting, an explosion of bright light and then suddenly a blast of cold air from a hostile atmosphere. He rolled forward and fell flat on his back, gasping for breath. The light blinded him, his vision flashing and making his head nearly split open with pain.

The first thing he discovered was that he was no longer in the car, or on the mountain or even in a familiar place. He was in a huge building, like an airport terminal that was filled with rows and rows of seats, each of them with a number at the end and a phrase underneath. Blurrily he glanced at the first one and noticed that it was labeled 'Colon Cancer'. He squinted, a feeling of terror slowly invading his senses as he suddenly realized where he was.

"No…_no! No! No! No! Oh God, please no!" _he whispered harshly, his voice hoarse from the aftermath of the accident. He scrambled to his feet, his legs trembling beneath him. He couldn't be back here. He just _couldn't_. It was impossible; it hadn't happened in two years so why now? _Why? Why? Why? _

Dazedly he wandered across the terminal, dragging one foot at a time in front of him, the effort making him nauseous and dizzy. His head swirled with numerous thoughts and he felt a wave of sickness slam into him. He struggled to get to a trashcan but there was none and he fell to his knees, gagging dryly, his hand clutching one of the seats. Nobody noticed him doing that; they were all stewing in their own torment.

He refused to believe that he was here again. He couldn't bear the thought that the cycle would restart, that his anguish would begin again and he would have to suffer through his mental distress – one he believed he had pushed away forever. And now Satan had decided to rip away his happiness and throw him back into this cycle of misery. He pushed himself up, wiping his already dry mouth and feeling his forehead pull into a livid scowl.

The only person who took notice was a heavyset guard that lumbered towards him, every step shaking the floor of the terminal, despite the fact that he was slightly shorter than Kenny himself. The boy pulled his hood over his head, shaking with anger as two more guards approached. He felt a sickened determination that he wasn't going to give in without a fight. It wasn't his time, and if he was forced to, he'd fight until he was bleeding and broken, because he refused to accept his fate.

"I'm _not_ going into Hell," he snarled at the guards. They stared at him blankly, obviously unimpressed by his statement. They had most likely dealt with quite a few rebellious people in their eternal lifetime. He was no different than the thousands of others who were in denial. "I'm _not_ going, you sons of bitches." His legs no longer felt shaky and he suddenly felt like he was new, _alive_ – although that was highly ironic.

The first guard leapt forward with unimaginable speed, hand curled into a fist with an immeasurable amount of power behind it.

But Kenny was quicker – his fury giving him strength and speed he hadn't thought possible – and he dropped to the ground, grabbing the man's legs and flipping him over his shoulder. Then he took off, desperately searching for an escape. His feet slapped against the ground lightly, every soft tap creating a loud echo that made everybody's head turn. Many people were too dismal to even care about what was happening.

"_Stop him! Stop that boy!_"

He swerved roughly, running into the line labeled 'Plane crash' and pushing past numerous victims. Most were flopped onto their seats limply, eyes empty with regret and resignation. He stepped over them, on them – it didn't matter- he just had to get away somehow.

As he ran he clasped his hands together tightly. "God, please help me. You know I don't belong here, you _know _I don't!" His prayers turned into rough sobs as what seemed like a bolt of lightning ripped through his head, blowing his senses apart. He jolted, legs collapsing beneath him and gritted his teeth at the familiar, nauseatingly unpleasant sensation. The feeling disappeared almost immediately, followed by a dull throbbing in his head. He groaned, pushing himself into a standing position with great difficulty. He had been prepared for this feeling, which was the only thing that made him able to continue running.

The palms of his hands were horrifically burnt, worse that if boiling water had been poured upon them. The charred skin was still hissing from the heat and if he weren't so distracted he would have been screaming from the pain.

Still running, he pressed his hands together shakily and was ready to whisper another prayer to God when he stopped, realizing that the guards had surrounded him at the edge of the terminal. He froze, at a loss of what to do. He didn't have enough strength to take on all of them, probably not even one of them!

A slim guard wearing a black trench coat lunged at him, holding a metal truncheon that he swung back at the last minute. Kenny saw his chance. Heart racing in terror, he dived under his arm and snagged the gun from its holster, swerving around and pulling the trigger haphazardly in the hopes that he would hit something. A few shocked cries rang out as guards and even a few people in line were hit by stray bullets.

"Please God, take me out of here. I suffered through so much and you _saved _me and oh God, please don't take it back now," he gasped under his breath.

Bright red spots flashed in front of his eyes. This time he didn't even try to resist the sensation of torture that hit him and he collapsed to the ground, eyes fluttering in a weak attempt to stay conscious. He tried to imagine how the situation could get any worse and felt it when hands grabbed him roughly and tied his arms behind him and his legs together. He felt the barbed wire dig harshly into his skin and grimaced at the vaguely familiar feeling. Hell had a thing for barbed wire.

He could vaguely hear the conversation happening around him as he was lifted onto someone's shoulders. _"Kid's a fucking nut, that's what he is. I've got to say, I didn't expect him to go crazy like that." _The voice was rough and it belonged to someone who had been chain smoking for many, many years. He assessed that the speaker was the one carrying him.

"_Know what shocked me? He managed to pray twice before giving up. And that's with holding his hands together and actually praying until his hands are scorched and his head feels like it has been smashed with a hammer while still conscious." _This voice belonged to a child, a young girl most likely. In his semi-conscious state it was hard to estimate her age.

"_For real? How do you know what it feels like?" _The last voice was strained, as if constantly on the brink of madness, and the speaker seemed slightly hyperactive.

"_I tried it once, dumbass. Believe me, it's a feeling you don't forget any time soon. And the last time I tried praying was the day I arrived in Hell. It's been seventy years and I still remember every second of that moment when I was foolish enough to put my hands together and pray." _

"_Sounds painful." _

"_You're showing worship to God in the one place where his presence is forbidden. It doesn't just hurt; it scars you mentally and physically. And it feels wrong, like…it's wicked to do something like that in a place like this. Kind of ironic, isn't it? It's evil to pray to God in a place like this." _

"_Gotta admire the kid for doing something as stupid as that." _The man with the rough voice spoke up again. Kenny felt himself slide off and land messily on the ground, his head whacking against the marble floor. He was semi-unconscious so he barely felt the sting of the impact. He felt someone slapping his cheeks roughly, prompting him to awaken and blurrily he lifted his hand and tried to swat them away.

"_Ngh_…no…stop it," he mumbled, blinking quickly and trying to clear up his eyesight. He focused on the ceiling above, noting that it was all white with a chandelier hanging above him, tinkling softly. The place was slightly recognizable and he felt a tingle of relief.

Satan's house was without comparison the most pleasant place in Hell. Every other area in the underworld was filled with tortured people hanging from the rocks, crawling on the ground and howling as demons dragged them back to their lairs. Hell was a large place, but there was almost no empty space without some suffering human wailing and pleading for forgiveness. It was sickening to him because he, like most normal people, didn't enjoy the sight of a person trying to hold in their intestines desperately.

Satan often returned to his house quite tired of seeing people suffering, simply because it was an escape from his job. This meant that in his house and the area around his house was usually void of anyone except for Satan, the workers he hired and Damien.

Oh and Kenny as well, who had died so often Satan had even allowed him to choose his own room. The boy almost always took refuge in this house because it gave him a rest from the other victims. He had grown fond of this house.

"You awake, kid?" A blurry face appeared before him and he groaned softly.

"Wuh-what? What's going on?" he mumbled. The man sneered before standing up. A few seconds later he had escaped from view, along with the other two people and Kenny found himself alone. He could barely bring himself to stand up, pressing his palms against the cold marble floor and forcing his body to straighten. Everything hurt – his head, his hands and worst of all there was some strange sense of wrongness in him.

He suddenly realized that his hands were completely burnt, raw red and stinging terribly. He winced, surprised at how bad it was. The punishment usually depended on Satan's mood and it seemed that he wasn't feeling very pleasant. Kenny had never had such a terrible burn. His confusion was somewhat masking the pain because although it felt like his hand was still resting on a lit stove his mind was whirling with thoughts and it distracted him temporarily.

"Kenny? What the hell are you doing here?"

The voice was a familiar, flat tone that he had often heard but only vaguely. He lifted his head and came face to face with the Prince of Darkness' son, Damien.

The youth was quite tall in height, almost a head over Kenny who was often categorized into tall. He had pitch-black hair that seemed to have grown darker over the years during Kenny's absence. It fell into his eyes untidily, as if he hadn't cut it or even brushed it for days. His face was pale – lack of sun, Kenny supposed, a thought that was hilariously twisted – and he had bags under his eyes. The once mysteriously good-looking heir to the Throne of Darkness now looked as if he hadn't slept in ages and had lost all interest in personal hygiene. Not only that but he was so much thinner as well.

Kenny gaped at him for a few seconds, shocked by his appearance, before shaking his head and finding his voice. "I…I don't know. I…guess I died." He said this evenly, but his voice wavered and he felt like he was going to throw up. "I…I don't feel so good."

Damien crouched next to him, looking slightly concerned but otherwise bored by this display. He had never been one to show many emotions and it seemed that he hadn't changed in the past two years. Kenny shot him an irritated glance before stumbling away. The other one followed silently, keeping only a few feet away and tensing slightly, ready to catch him if he fell – a prospect that seemed very likely as he seemed to be hyperventilating.

"What am I doing here? I'm not supposed to be here. I'm not supposed to be dead!" he sobbed. "He _promised _that he lifted the curse. He _promised_ and now the son of a bitch has taken it back. _I HATE THIS PLACE!_" He grabbed a mirror off the wall and swung it around, throwing it against the wall with a furious yell. He grabbed a vase and smashed it against the ground.

"Stop it," Damien said flatly. Kenny glared at him.

"Don't tell me what to _fucking_ do!" he screamed. "This wasn't supposed to happen! I can't go back tomorrow! I can't start this cycle again – dying and reviving and dying and reviving until I wished I would just stay dead!" All his self-pity had transformed into a murderous rage and he blindly struck out at the first person available. His fist whacked into Damien's shoulder in what should have been a very painful punch, but the other boy didn't wince or flinch.

Damien stood there as Kenny pushed him, watching as the blond became more and more frustrated with his passiveness. He looked pitiful, receiving blow upon blow without doing anything to defend himself and finally Kenny stopped, breathing heavily. He glared at the older boy, mouth pulled down in a grimace. His cheeks were streaked with angry tears and he lifted his fist, ready to deliver the final blow. Damien did nothing, simply raised an eyebrow in disbelief before tensing himself, ready for the impact.

His stared straight into Damien's deep red eyes and slowly let his hand drop by his side. "I'm sorry, man, I didn't mean to…to…" He shook his head, feeling ashamed. He had just taken his anger out on someone who had done nothing wrong, worse, who had shown concern for him.

"It's okay." Damien's voice was soft and forgiving and it made Kenny feel even worse. The black-haired boy straightened, looking serious. "You're not supposed to be here. My father told me that your so-called curse had been lifted years ago which means that something went wrong or someone broke the rules and decided to kill you."

"I have to talk to him urgently. I can do this again, Damien. I can't be trapped between both worlds anymore; it's either one of the other. It's either Hell or Earth, but it can't be both. Please, Damien, you _have _to help me," he pleaded, eyes shining. He didn't realize the effect his pitiful expression was having on Damien but as he watched uncertainty crossed the boy's face and he nodded firmly.

"I'll talk to my father. Maybe he knows what went wrong," he said. A brilliant smile crossed Kenny's face and the hope lit up his expression. Damien stared at him for a few seconds, seeming to be lost for words. Then he quickly regained himself and continued. "I can't guarantee anything. My father's been quite…unpredictable lately."

Kenny's stomach dropped slightly. "What do you mean by that?"

"Well, you weren't here but a few months ago he and Saddam were dating…for the hundredth time, and he found out that Saddam was cheating on him with some guy and they were planning to de-throne my father. Well, understandably he was fucking pissed off and after he sentenced the two to eternal torture he began a new rule." His face saddened slightly.

"What does that mean?"

"It means that he's no longer the dependent, whiny little pussy he was before and now he's a crueler, harsher image of everything evil in the world. In other words he's acting like the Devil. The proper one, not the pathetic wretch he used to be. _I hate it_," he snarled. "Now Hell is the eternal torment that it was meant to be and it's sickening, watching the billions of people suffering for eternity for a few small, trivial sins. I never realized how truly creative my father was until he began generating different styles of torture."

Kenny felt his skin turn slightly cold as he heard the tone of Damien's voice change. His voice was frosty and filled with fury, something that Kenny had seen before but more explosive. Somehow this disappointed, vengeful tone scared him slightly more. He hesitated, then sighed, his shoulders hunched.

It was slowly beginning to hit him that he was going to suffer the same pain and torture every single day. He was going to have to sit in line, watching and feeling people's agony and then stay in Hell, waiting for the moment he'd be ripped back to the land of the living. And then he'd spent the next day on Earth dreading every second that passed, wondering if his death would be painful or easy, long or quick. And then he'd spiral into a depression and it would be like all those years ago…

Damien obviously saw how his face had saddened after his little outburst and he reached out and put a hand on Kenny's shoulder. "Hey, don't worry. I'll talk to him, okay? Maybe he can pull a few strings, get you back to life, you know?"

"Yeah…it's not the dying that gets me. It's the dying over and over and over again. I can't take it. All I want is to be either dead or alive. If you help me, I swear I'll be grateful forever!"

There was a pause in which Damien seemed to consider what he said. Then a tentative grin crossed his face and his lips twitched. Kenny was surprised by how much his face was changed by a simple smile. His features seemed to brighten and all the exhaustion disappeared from his face in that single second. Kenny was slightly taken aback by this sudden change but, without realizing it, he suddenly felt a lot more comfortable.

"Okay, I'll help you. I can't guarantee that I'll get you back to Earth, but the least I can do it convince my Dad to let you stay here. But, you have to live here, in this house. Understood?" he demanded.

Kenny was shocked by this strange command. What had spurred on such an order? "What? Why? What the hell is that about? Tell me why first," he spluttered, irritated.

Damien looked slightly embarrassed by this request. "I…I don't have any friends here and I…my father doesn't let anybody into this house, but he used to let you stay here when you died. He seems to like you…or at least he did back when…well, I was just hoping that maybe he'd let you stay here and I'd finally have someone to talk to, you know?"

For a moment, Kenny felt as though he'd known this boy for all his life. And technically, he had. He'd never really talked to Damien, but they were old acquaintances and if Damien could help him find salvation, if he could free him from the looming threat of the curse, then he would agree to any of the condition he presented.

"Done."

And when he shook hands with Damien, there was a strange, trembling feeling in his arms that he couldn't quite place. But a second later, it was forgotten, along with any fear and doubts.


	5. Material Possessions

**Notes: **I am really sorry that it's taken me so long to update! I always have something to do nowadays which forces me to put this stupid thing off and it's driving me absolutely insane. There's been so much work to do in school and I have finally forced myself to sit down and actually do it, only to discover that now I have no time to do anything else, let alone write fanfiction. I've been wanting to put this up for so long and I hope that this chapter makes up for the long wait.

Thanks all of you for reviewing! Really appreciated them and they kept me going. It cheers me up to know that people like the story.

Chapter Five

Material Possessions

It took ten minutes for Damien to even dare to knock on the door of his father's room. He did everything he could to delay the moment when he would have to eventually face the man behind the door. It was difficult for him not to turn back, to go to Kenny and lie about talking to his Dad. He did, after all, know that Kenny was in no danger whatsoever of returning to Earth and living through the curse again.

He didn't want to have to lie again. He hated the thought of having to blatantly lie to Kenny's face; it made him feel two-faced and manipulative, which he _was _at the moment, but he didn't want to admit it. He didn't want to deceive him, because every time he did it made him feel like shit.

He finally lifted his fist and tapped on it tentatively. It was almost laughable, the son of Satan reduced to practically crawling to his father in fear. A year ago he would have barged into the room violently, ordering his father around and rummaging through his things. But his most recent experience of doing that had ended in blood, bruises and a week in bed. He wasn't willing to take that risk ever again.

"Who is it?" He winced as he heard the harsh voice that signaled a bad mood. Damien hesitantly opened the door, pushing it open slowly to reveal Satan standing at his window. The Devil was still a thing of gigantic stature and now, with his newfound attitude he was even more intimidating than ever before. His eyes, once soft and caring, had turned hard and icy, even when he looked upon his son. He faced Damien with blank indifference that could switch to twisted fury at the slightest comment or action. Anyone could be on the receiving end of his anger, and no matter whom you were, you'd regret it when the Prince of Darkness turned against you.

"Sir?"

Satan glared at him, his head tilted downwards in a manner that made Damien feel puny. "What do you want? I'm busy right now. I don't have time for this."

"It's…it's Kenny, sir. He's back," Damien said. "He arrived a few hours ago – maybe two, and I found him in our house. He doesn't know what happened but he thinks that the curse is back. I thought you and God agreed not to kill him and revive him anymore. Why did you guys change your mind?"

"The curse has not been revived. I would have felt it if the boy was cursed again," Satan snapped. His red skin seemed to flush a darker color and his scowl deepened. It was obvious he was aware of this 'problem' and Damien wondered just exactly what he'd heard or been told. "I know about his arrival; I was informed by the Reapers, but it seems that he wasn't on the list. Which means that someone has defied my orders and killed the boy without my permission." His voice was low and there was a current of rage in his tone.

Damien felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as he began to imagine what would happen if his father ever found out the truth behind Kenny's death. "So you didn't know about it? How is that possible-"

"Are you questioning me?" The Devil snarled. His eyes blazed with fury as he surveyed Damien who silenced himself immediately, though his face still showed a certain amount of defiance. There was a short battle of wills as they sized each other up, Damien considering the consequences of ignoring his father's irritation and continuing with his question. Then his eyes traveled down to the ground submissively and he was silent. "Somebody has obviously slipped under my radar and performed a ritual to mask his death. I don't know who, but the punishment for such a traitorous act…" He let his voice trail off and Damien felt himself shiver slightly.

"Are you going to investigate this?"

"I'm sending some of my best men to find out who performed the ritual. I've given them orders to find the suspect and bring him to me. Then…I'll deal with him myself."

"Maybe you made a mistake," Damien said. The moment he said it, Satan's face went black with rage and he regretted having ever said that. But he continued, being the sort of person who would persist when he knew he was in trouble. He had already made the mistake of angering his father, he might as well continue since it couldn't possibly get any worse. "Maybe you put him on the list without realizing it and the Reapers simply told you because they were scared that you would punish them for-"

He had already prepared for it, but it was difficult to stop his gasp of surprise when an invisible force grabbed him around his midriff and threw him back violently into the wall. His head slammed against the plaster and stars burst in front of his eyes, flashing mockingly as he tried to blink them away. He hadn't been thrown too hard, just enough to jolt him and although his head was stinging from the collision it faded away almost immediately and all that was left was the throb of hatred that caused a tense silence between them.

He was almost ready to storm out of the room, slam the door behind him so hard it would shudder and break. It would accomplish nothing, but it would leave him deeply satisfied.

Then he remembered that he still had something to request from the Devil and decided to put aside his anger. He stood up, resisting the urge to brush himself off and stared directly at the ground.

"Forgive my insolence, sir. I should not have questioned you," he forced through gritted teeth. He cursed in his mind, hating having to be so docile. His fists were clenched, knuckles white with the sheer effort of keeping his powers under control. The lamp on the desk began to tremble ever so slightly. "I have one more request, if you have the time to spare."

"What is it?"

"If it's possible, could Kenny stay at our house? I can set up one of the guest rooms, and since you never minded his presence before I was hoping that maybe you would make an exception for him."

There was a thoughtful pause and Damien felt his heart lift as he realized that his question was actually being considered. He drew in his breath, waiting for the answer impatiently. As the time passed, he felt more and more terrified until finally his father answered:

"Fine. It's no concern of mine. Anything else before you leave?"

Damien smirked, feeling slightly malicious. "Do you remember three months ago when a group of people robbed a bank and murdered seven people without your permission?"

There was a second of pure, black silence.

"It was Arrow."

He then ran out of the room, making sure to close the door silently behind him. He felt an uncontrollable smile spread across his face and resisted the urge to scream in triumph. He sprinted across the hall, skidding down until he reached the stairs then hurried down three steps at a time. His heart was pounding so heart it felt like it was slamming against his ribcage and a rush of adrenalin coursed through him violently.

He suddenly realized that he'd never felt so _happy_ in his entire life. His entire outlook on life seemed to depend upon a boy he had stalked for the past two years. He suddenly realized how truly pathetic he was, but at this moment he just couldn't give a damn. He was happy, and that's all that mattered. Well, that and the fact that Kenny was happy too. Well, at the moment he probably wasn't _happy,_ but he would be when he found out that he wouldn't be skipping through 'worlds' anymore.

"Kenny? Where are you?" He looked around the living room, frowning slightly. He immediately covered up his happiness so Kenny wouldn't see and be suspicious. But it was difficult to pretend to be the emotionless bastard he used to be. He caught sight of Kenny on the couch, fiddling irritably with something. "What are you doing?"

The blond looked up. His face was tinged red with frustration and he was biting his lower lip. Damien quickly looked down, feeling the overwhelming attraction welling up inside of him and he felt that he had to stop himself from…well, from whatever urges took over him. "I'm trying to bandage my stupid burns but it's _not working_!" He whined, lifting up his hands and showing Damien the angry red marks on the palms of his hands.

"What happened? Why are they all burnt like that?" He struggled to keep his concern at a controllable level, but his tone was flecked with worry and anger.

"I prayed to God to get me the fuck out of here. Like that helped," Kenny scoffed bitterly.

Damien kneeled on the ground in front of Kenny, reaching out and holding his hand. The moment they touched he felt electricity jolt up and down his arm and swallowed uncomfortably. Kenny didn't seem to notice anything or even be affected by the contact at all, but Damien took a few seconds to force himself to calm down before he spoke. "I remember when you were here two years ago – in the days before the curse was lifted and you'd decided that you didn't want to suffer anymore…"

He placed his hand on top of Kenny's, which was facing upwards, and the two of them watched as the skin because to heal, the scarred skin flattening and becoming smooth once again, the angry red color fading to a slight pink that would eventually disappear. Kenny was watching this avidly, but Damien could tell he was listening.

"I walked past your room and every time I looked inside you were praying. You were down on your knees, hands clasped together and praying desperately for God to hear you, because your life depended on it. And every time you did the pain would strike you down and you'd get a terrible headache, but you'd get up and continue until you were too exhausted to even lift your arms," he said softly. He looked up and realized that Kenny was staring into the distance, his eyes glassy as he thought of a distant memory. He dropped Kenny's hands, finished with his healing and straightened silently. Kenny broke out of his trance, glancing at his hands in surprise.

"Wow, how did you do that?"

"I'm the Son of Satan. I can do a lot of things." He blinked, slightly wearied from the task of healing. His experience was limited to cuts and bruises, but the occasional serious injury was just about what he could handle. Nothing more or he'd collapse. "Does it feel better?"

"Yeah, I'm all right now." They smiled at each other shyly.

Damien grasped Kenny's wrist to help him up and the blond relented. "Come on, let me show you to your room." Kenny blinked in surprise. Vaguely he followed Damien, not comprehending fully what was happening. "I spoke to my dad about what happened to you. He says he thinks someone might have killed you without him knowing."

"How is that possible? Doesn't Satan know everything that goes on here?"

"Well, there are some rituals that powerful people can conduct to mask their actions from him, at least temporarily. In your case it was just long enough to kill you and drag your soul to Hell. And since it was done behind my father's back, it means that the curse hasn't been lifted, so you won't be returning to South Park," he said bluntly. He wasn't the sort to speak with tact and delicacy, but he wished he had not been so frank when he saw Kenny's face fall. "I'm…sorry about that. I would help you if I could, but you live by the rules now and that means that once you're dead…it's permanent."

He wanted to offer him some reassurance, some way to lighten up the expression but instead he did nothing as Kenny's solemnity turned to slight puzzlement. Kenny said, "You know what the worst thing is?"

Damien shook his head. The other boy put his hood up and tightened the drawstring slightly, like he used to when he was scared as a child.

"I can't tell if I'm happy or sad about that," he whispered. His lips twitched into a strange smile and they continued to walk until Damien reached the door of Kenny's new room. It was the room that was right next to his and the door was a bright red. Damien's was pitch black, which wasn't surprising considering almost all the clothes he owned were black. Kenny glanced at the door, slightly curious before he was pulled into his new room.

The room was quite large – certainly larger than his room in his dump of a house in South Park – and filled with many hideously expensive things. The room was white, the walls painted into a pure, clean color with no paintings or pictures on the walls, and the floor was wooden with a fluffy black carpet in the middle. There was a balcony that overlooked the sea – the Sea of Tormented Souls – and the beach, which would have been beautiful if it weren't for the hundreds of tortured bodies washed up on the shore.

There were huge shelves on the side filled with hundreds of comic books and DVDs and a 50-inch flat screen TV with an X box and a Wii and a dozen other game consoles – some of them ones that he never knew even existed. There were also huge stereos on either side of the television.

All of these materials possessions made him pause in shock and excitement as he surveyed things he never even dreamed of owning. His eyes traveled to the huge, squashy sofas in front of the TV – he'd never had a room big enough to have couches inside! He was too shocked to even register the presence of the pool table, foosball table and ping pong table. There was even a mini-fridge for Christ's sake!

"Holy shit!" he cried. "This place is huge-ass! What is this, like, your living room?" He was itching to run forward and try out everything he saw. His excitement was infectious and Damien found himself barely able to contain a big smile as he announced:

"Nope. It's your room."

There was a second of disbelief and mistrust. "You're fucking with me."

"No, I'm dead serious. This is your room. Mine is the one next to it," he said. "It's even bigger and you're welcome there any time, but I'm guessing that the stuff in here will keep you busy for a while." Kenny squeaked with joy and began to shiver with the effort of standing still. "It all belongs to you now, so make the best of it."

He couldn't stop himself from striding forward and running his hands over the surface of the ping pong table. "There's no way…there's no way that this can be mine." He sounded dazed. "I've never owned anything like this in my life…" He clenched his fists, comically jumping from foot to foot.

Damien grinned, enjoying Kenny's happiness and followed him like a loyal puppy. Kenny noticed this and smiled at him, which made his heart thunder painfully and a slight blush rise to his cheeks. On his pale skin he feared it would be completely visible and quickly ducked his head, trotting to the game consoles. Kenny began to follow suit until he tripped over a large black beanbag.

"Holy crap! A beanbag? I've always wanted a beanbag in my room!" Kenny cried. He then laid eyes on the incredibly large bed in the room with a light grey bedspread and enormous, squashy pillows. This seemed to blind Kenny to the rest of the room for a second and he laughed, leaping forward and landing face-first on the bed. His weight caused him to bounce straight back up and he flipped around, landed on his back and chuckling in contentment. His hands reached up and hit the pillow under his head to fluff it up, his expression turning dreamy.

"I've never slept in a bed so comfortable…in my house all I had was a crappy mattress with the springs popping out and slicing me open every time I turned over," he mumbled.

"You should see my Dad's bed. It's twice the size of this and you literally sink into it and never want to come out," Damien said, flopping back onto the mattress. The impact made Kenny fly off the bed a few inches.

"Hey! Watch it, fatass!" he joked, trying to shove Damien off the bed. The son of Satan fought back momentarily and Kenny was no match for him. "Jesus, how…are you so…strong?" His eyes landed on Damien's arms as his muscles bulged in the effort to keep Kenny down.

"I spend my life playing sports with supernaturally strong demons," he said, quite easily pinning Kenny down. "_And _I'm the son of Satan. I'd spend my life in disgrace if I was beaten by some no good po' boy!" For a second he sounded like Cartman and surprise flashed over Kenny as well as a strange expression and Damien tensed himself, preparing for the worst.

Suddenly, Kenny burst into hysterics. He fell on his back, face bright with joy and Damien was stunned by this reaction. A second later he joined in the laughter.

"You sounded _just _like Cartman!" Kenny chuckled, wiping a tear from his eye. Damien kept his mouth shut, not wanting to reveal the amount of time he'd spent watching Kenny, and in turn having to watch Cartman as well. They settled down, Damien sitting on the beanbag while Kenny lay on his bed. "You know what's ridiculous? I kind of miss Cartman. I mean, I always got annoyed at that fat son of a bitch, but I fucking miss him."

"What about your other friends?" Damien questioned. "Do you miss them?"

"Of course I do. I miss Stan and Kyle so goddamn much. They were great friends – irreplaceable, you know? They were pretty inseparable, but it didn't mean that they weren't my friends as well. They're some of the best friends a guy could have. And I was pretty good friends with Craig, Clyde and Token too. Oh, and Tweek, but he always got freaked out when I flirted with him," he mumbled, sounding amused.

Kenny was a natural flirt, always very touchy-feely with all of his friends. If he had a friend, then he would flirt with him without realizing it. It made him a very confident, friendly person that people, although they would teasingly resist his flirtations, would enjoy the attention he fawned upon them. He never neglected a friend and when he was with someone he would always shower them with praise and mockery and love.

Damien jumped when Kenny reached up and began to play with his hair. He felt his skin tingling uncontrollably and gripped his knees, refusing to say anything. Kenny was staring at the ceiling and didn't notice Damien's discomfort.

"I'm sorry, I like to play with people's hair. Especially if they have black hair. Do you mind?"

"No, it's fine," Damien said through gritted teeth, resisting the urge to lean back into the ridiculously enticing touch.

"It's why I used to love playing with Stan's hair…and…and Craig's…" the whisper would have gone unnoticed by anyone else, but Damien froze, scowling in jealousy. He leaned back, head touching the edge of the bed. Kenny's finger twirled around a lock of hair and he hummed absent-mindedly, completely unaware of what he was doing to the older boy. "He had nice hair. It was kinda spiky but not too short and it didn't spike up stupidly, and there was never any gel in it…I like his hair." He got up suddenly, smiling at Damien. "You have nice hair too, actually. It's so soft."

"Thank you," Damien muttered, cheeks tinged with pink. He sensed that he was beginning to have a little bit of difficulty controlling himself and jumped up, striding towards the X box and grabbing two Guitar Hero guitars on the way. "Let's play Guitar Hero." He tossed one to Kenny, who had jumped in surprise by Damien's sudden movement. Kenny fumbled with the strap, pulling it over his head.

"You any good at this?" he asked, fiddling with the buttons. Damien nodded.

"Yes," he said. There was no arrogance in his voice, only a matter-of-fact tone. Kenny laughed at his honesty. He liked that Damien was so straightforward. "Why are you laughing?"

"I've never met anyone so truly direct as you. Where are your social skills?" he chuckled. Damien frowned, scratching his head in slight confusion.

"I…don't have any? I haven't met another human being for years, never mind have a proper conversation with one. I think the last school I've been to was when I was nine. I haven't talked to an alive human since then. Father doesn't even let me talk to dead humans because the people in Hell aren't exactly safe," he explained. Kenny switched on the X box and immediately chose 'Expert', a silent challenge to Damien who immediately countered this by choosing the same.

"Wouldn't Satan want you to hang around dangerous people? I mean, you're supposed to be pure evil aren't you? Wouldn't the heartless bastards in Hell be the kind of people he'd want you to be influenced by?"

Damien bit his lip, pressing the buttons with expertly quick fingers and eyes darting across the screen of the enormous television. Even though he was listening to what Kenny was saying he didn't miss a single beat. "Yeah, that's what he tried at first. Then after a few traumatic experiences with Jack the Ripper, Adolf Hitler, Ted Bundy and John Wayne Gacy…" He shuddered suddenly and Kenny stared at him, slack-jawed with shock. He couldn't envision having to be exposed to some of the most famously brutal killers in history. "My idiot of a father was stupid enough to leave me alone with them and I ended up having to fend for myself. He finally learnt after he discovered me trapped and tied up under my bed for three days."

"Holy…" Kenny mumbled. He suddenly realized he'd lost all awareness of the game and fumbled with the guitar, quickly regaining his concentration and getting back on track. Damien had been correct about his skill; he was a total pro.

Not as good as Stan and Kyle had been admittedly, but quite close. Then again, a boy with no friends probably didn't have much to do all day so Kenny wasn't very surprised. The game finished and Kenny, defeated, sighed and put down his guitar.

"I hope I never come across characters like that. They'd scare the shit out of me," he said. Damien twitched violently.

"Fuck!" he snapped. Kenny jumped, slightly surprised. "I'd never let you meet anyone like that. No way will those assholes ever get close to you!" His voice was stern with determination and there was a strange silence that followed his outburst. Kenny didn't know what to feel and he decided upon feeling flattered and gave Damien a timid, crooked smile. Damien dropped the guitar and heard it clatter on the ground.

"Good to know you have my back," Kenny laughed. He kneeled down and began going through the hundreds of games that Damien had brought for him. "Whoa! You have Super Smash Bros on Wii? That's _awesome!_" He excitedly opened the case and took out the disc, giggling with joy.

Damien was happy that for the moment, Kenny was distracted from the pain of dying permanently. He knew that at some point Kenny would come to the realization that he'd never see his beloved friends or his home of South Park but at least for the moment he was in denial. Damien wasn't relishing the idea of having to lie to Kenny once again. He looked down at the hooded boy and suddenly thought that maybe he should buy him some new clothes.

Vaguely, his sensitive ears picked up the sound of an outraged scream and he winced.

He recognized the sound of Arrow's voice as his name was repeated in a vulgar curse over and over again. He had a feeling that he would pay for revealing Arrow's secret; he was the kind of man who could hold a grudge for eternity and exacted frightful revenge upon those who betrayed him. But at the moment, Damien really couldn't care.


	6. Open Casket

**Notes: **I just had to add Kyle in because .x just looooves him. Kyle's going to have a big part in this, because he's just an awesome character and he deserves to play a big role in everything that happens. Woohoo, angst galore in this chapter!

Especially thanks to .x for personally demanding me to write when I was too lazy to. And ecilaaa, thanks for just being awesome and reading. Loves :P

Chapter Six

Open Casket

The funeral was an open casket, leaving the victim bare for everyone to see. This wasn't what Kenny would have wanted. It was why he wore the hood up to cover his face most of the time. Because he didn't like being exposed…vulnerable. He didn't like people seeing him at his weakest without him being able to hide.

Kyle knew that if his friend were here, he'd be _pissed off_. Kenny – even as a ghost – would be yelling and cursing, transparent, intangible hands grasping vainly at the casket and trying to pull it down so that he could be covered up and hidden.

Kenny was a background character. He never held grudges, never was the center of attention, _rarely_ acted out of the goodness of his heart and was never boring to be around. He never let his friends down, but never helped a stranger.

He was the one who flirted with everybody and gave everyone the dirty advice. He was the person who listened to others when they were sad and who cheered them up by goofing around. He was the person who got mad when you commented on his family's poverty and stormed away, only to return minutes later and slap your backside teasingly, insult forgotten and anger faded. He was the person who you could count on to give you a pack of smokes or bring you on a drunken adventure. He was the guy you regretted playing truth or dare with when you found yourself on the street in your underwear with everyone laughing at you. He was the guy who fell for people easily but never fell in love.

He _used _to be the person who died.

Kyle closed his eyes, gripping the side of the coffin with his hands and biting his lip in frustration. A few angry tears spilled onto Kenny's parka – his friends had insisted he wear it for the burial. And the parka from his younger days was sitting in Stan's room, draped carefully onto the bed. Stan had asked to keep it and Kyle didn't want to say no.

"You told us you were free…you told us you wouldn't die…" he whispered, licking dry lips as he struggled to contain himself. "I don't understand why you couldn't just…warn us…so we could at least prepare for this." He glanced behind him and saw Carol McCormick crying into her hands, her husband comforting her sadly. Kyle felt a tug at his arm and moved away from the coffin, feeling empty.

Stan's eyes were red-rimmed and his hair was sticking up in unnatural places. He glanced down at the coffin and opened his mouth to say something, but it caught in his throat and instead he turned away, looking nauseated. Kyle sympathized and they walked away until they were outside the church. They sat onto the sidewalk, silently watching as a few cars passed, their drivers obliviously heading towards their destinations, none of them currently experiencing the gut-wrenching pain that the two young adolescents were feeling. Or so they believed.

"When you're suffering, you feel like you're the only person in the world who's going through something so terrible. But right now, there are hundreds of other people like us who are crying over the loss of a loved one, feeling just as much or maybe even more pain than we are," Kyle said. Stan chuckled.

"And the moral of this story is…" he joked weakly, thinking back to when they were children and all of the episodes in their lives seemed to carry some deeper meaning.

"I don't know. But I do know that none of those other people were ever as unique as Kenny. Kenny used to die all the time, and we never really cared that much, you know? He just…died everyday and we never even gave a shit because he'd always come back. Now when I look back, I feel like such an asshole because I never told Kenny that I was scared of him dying permanently. Maybe he died thinking I didn't care about him…"

Stan blinked in surprise when Kyle burst in sobs, grief wracking his entire body. The sight of Kyle's tears made Stan's eyes water and suddenly they were both crying, wiping away their tears furiously. Kyle felt his shoulders shake uncontrollably and he buried his head in his hands. He missed Kenny. He missed his flirtations and his dirty jokes, his complete confidence and the fact that he was somehow always there. Even if it was just to be a silent listener, Kenny was there.

But now he was gone. They had lain him down in a casket for everyone to see and his eyes were closed. Kyle wondered, when he died, who would be the person sobbing on the sidewalk? He turned slightly to stare at Stan, who gave him a watery smile. Stan would cry for him. He was sure of that.

"Do you think Kenny knows that we're crying over him right now? Or do you think that he thinks we don't give a damn? God, if he thought that…I'd fucking hate myself," Kyle muttered. Stan reached up to put an arm around his super best friend.

"I'm sure he knows, Kyle. Kenny knows that we care about him. I'm sure of it. Sure, we never said it out loud, but doesn't mean we didn't show it. Kenny was a great friend and we stood by him whenever he was in trouble or sad. Don't beat yourself up about things that aren't worth worrying about. Kenny's dead and we have to move on," Stan said wisely.

"But I can't move on. Not now…not for a while," Kyle stated. It was a fact.

"Like Hell, that's not what I'm asking-"

"Hey guys. Stan…_Kahl_…" they were interrupted by a soft voice. Cartman, usually loud and confident, had retreated into what seemed to be a semi-conscious state during the funeral and only now did he emit his first words of the day. He was dressed in a black suit, like the other two, with his tie pulled loose and as they watched he pulled out his hat and jammed it onto his head roughly. The side of his face was a faded purple and there was a shallow cut on his forehead – the indication that he'd been in a car accident a few days ago. The only other noticeable injury was obvious from the slight limp as he approached them. "You finally couldn't take it? Me neither. This is bull crap. Kenny would've hated open casket."

"You read my mind. He would've wanted it sealed completely shut. How are his parents even paying for this?"

"They're not. Apparently some distant relative died and they inherited a bit of money a few days ago. Just enough to pay for this and keep them alive for a few more weeks," Stan muttered. "Kenny would've been pissed off. He always hated spending money on shit like funerals. Especially when it could be used to buy food or booze."

"I miss him." Cartman's blunt statement made them pause before turning to him with wide, surprised eyes. He scowled. "Well, no one else helps me with my awesome plans, and Kenny's po' so he _had _to help me and…ugh…screw you guys, I'm going home." His voice was a weak imitation of what it had been before.

"You should stay Cartman. Our parents are still in there," Stan muttered. Cartman hesitated, then sat down next to Stan, looking miserable. They sat silently, watching the cars drive past once again. For once there was no underlying tension between Cartman and Kyle, and none of them spoke until Stan suddenly remembered the others involved in the crash.

"Craig and Tweek. What happened to them? I heard Tweek was in a coma," he said. Kyle glanced up; he had heard no such thing and hoped to God it wasn't true.

"Yeah he is. They don't know when he's going to wake up. Craig has a few bruises; he was the luckiest," Cartman said. He had only been released a few days ago. He absent-mindedly scratched at his bruise. "Craig's fucked up in the head though. He still hasn't said a word and doesn't do anything except sit with Tweek and stare at him all day long."

"Of course he's fucked up! He was _driving_ the car that killed his boyfriend and put his best friend in a coma!" Kyle spat. His sudden outburst shocked them and they stared at him in shock. He paused, suddenly regretting his flare-up and rubbed his temples, ignoring the questioning stare that Stan was giving him. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. It wasn't his fault; I know it wasn't. I'm just not thinking straight."

There was an unspoken agreement not to speak of the accident anymore and this remained for a few hours.

Once their parents left, they separated without saying goodbye, only a thick, grieving silence between them. Kyle watched as Stan and Cartman left, allowing their parents to comfort them and glancing back at him a few times. Sheila Broflovski patted Kyle on the back comfortingly.

"I'm so sorry about your little friend, Kyle. Kenny was a good boy and we'll all miss him very much," she said, trying to console him. He smiled at her. "I know he's gone, but you'll always have memories of the good times with him."

Kyle smiled secretively. She didn't notice his sudden change in manner. He hunched forward, stuffing his hands in his pockets. His face brightened ever so slightly as his mothers words became clear.

_He's not gone…Kenny always comes back. He'll come back this time. I know he will. _

Kyle placed his hat back onto his head and smiled, kicking the gravel from the pavement up and watching as the pebbles fell one by one into the drain.

00000

Night in Hell was different to night on Earth.

Night in Hell was unpredictable; there was no telling when the fires would diminish because there was no daily cycle. Night would come quickly, without a warning and sometimes it would last for days, months and once it had even lasted for three years. The time between each night was random, so there was no telling when night would fall. Even Satan himself only had a vague idea of when the fires would cease to burn temporarily, casting Hell into darkness.

There was no sun in Hell, but night was present when the burning flames on the horizon simmered and began to fade, leaving nothing but the pitch black. Darkness in Hell was nothing like darkness on earth. In Hell, there was no flicker of light coming from the numerous buildings, no bright neon signs flashing tentatively. The only light that shone was the circle of light around Satan's house. Once all the fires died out, the wails began. Millions upon millions of tortured souls began to wail in fear of the darkness and of the torture that was about to begin.

Damien later explained to Kenny that during the 'day', people were free to roam about. Most people who ended in Hell weren't true sinners; they just hadn't been good enough to go into Heaven. People who had committed murder and rape were tortured on a daily and nightly basis, given schedules for their next torture session and where they would go to receive their punishment.

Other people who had gone to Hell on account of not being Mormon, were only tortured in the night. And even the ones who weren't were stranded on the streets and forced to sit through hours of pure blackness, listening to the moans and wails of the tortured souls. It was enough to drive a person crazy. And it usually did.

The tortured cries of the people were inhuman and when other ex-human souls were exposed to them it often caused a temporary insanity that demons caused 'The Madness'. If they were exposed to 'The Madness' for too long then there would be little hope of helping their tortured minds. That was why most humane people in Hell were not the sanest ones.

Kenny, who hadn't died in two years, had completely forgotten about the screams. His time in Hell often lasted for only a few hours, which meant that he usually wasn't present for the night to fall.

His first 'night' in Hell was agonizing.

The second week of his death he seemed to still be in denial about the loss of his friends. Damien hadn't offered to let him watch 'South Park Television' to see his friends because he was attempting to delay Kenny's realization of the truth. He knew it would be a difficult phase and things would most likely be strained for a while after that, but he was currently enjoying the rise in their friendship.

They got along well, each of them becoming friends with relative ease and once Damien had gotten over the inability to breathe properly when Kenny was around, he had slipped back into his natural character and as it turned out, Kenny liked his natural character.

The blond hadn't noticed how uncomfortable Damien had been with him in the beginning. He had assumed it was because the son of Satan wasn't used to having human friends – which was quite true – but never did it occur to him that Damien had feelings for him.

Everyday was spent in each other's company, because Kenny was too scared to go outside and because he was incredibly grateful to already have a friend in Hell.

A fortnight after his death, Kenny and Damien has just finished a brutal game of Crash Team Racing – which Kenny had lost - and Kenny was exploring the types of music that had been placed on his shelves.

In the midst of going through the stacked CDs he didn't notice the first scream that rose from the darkness. His hands were brushing invisible dust off a _Queen _CD and he smiled when he glanced at the songs in the back. "I like all of these songs. Freddy Mercury's a genius." Damien made a noise of agreement. He was spread-eagled on Kenny's bed, eyelids drooping slightly. Kenny didn't realize that Damien was experiencing the best day of his life and was currently bathing in happiness, too relaxed to get up. Kenny's presence seemed to make all his problems completely drift away.

Kenny reached for another CD and glanced at the back. His eyes landed upon 'Carry on my wayward son' and a sad smile crept onto his face. His back was turned to Damien but the black-haired boy immediately sat up, sensing something was different. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, nothing…I just…remember this song," Kenny said, wiping a stray tear from his eye. "Stan and Kyle used to play it all the time on Guitar Hero. They stopped for a few years but last week they started to play again, to see if they could reach a million points." He shoved the CD back onto the shelf, trying to blink away the tears. He missed them desperately and suddenly wished they were here.

"I'm sorry about your friends." There was a deeply sincere note in Damien's voice and Kenny shook his head casually.

"Nah. Not your fault," he said. Damien ducked his head quickly and lay back down onto the mattress. He felt slightly uncomfortable with Kenny's quick dismissal of his apology, guilt rising inside of him, which he quickly suppressed. He was scared that Kenny would be able to see it on his face. "I just wish you could meet them, and that they were here. They're absolutely amazing."

He stopped, stiffened in shock. Damien frowned, staring as Kenny's jaw turned slack and his eyes darted to the window. For a few seconds he couldn't pinpoint what exactly was happening with Kenny; his ears were so accustomed to the sound of the howls. Kenny slowly began to drift towards the window, speeding up rapidly.

Damien suddenly realized that pained screams were bursting through the window and jumped up, sprinting to the sliding windows. He was tackled halfway by Kenny, who scrambled towards the enormous balcony.

"Shit! Kenny, stop! _Stop!_" Damien warned shrilly, leaping up and grabbing the hooded boy, who scrambled to escape, scratching at his face. "I'm sorry, but you can't go out there!"

"I have to! I have to go help them! _I have-_" Kenny choked, eyes bulging madly. He whined pitifully as Damien pinned his arms down, calculating just how quickly he could run to the door. He looked down and saw that Kenny's eyes were already glazing over with 'The Madness'. The psychosis was giving an incredible amount of strength to the blond and as Damien leaned down to increase the pressure on his arms, Kenny's head smashed into his and hundreds of tiny stars exploded behind his eyelids. He refused to loosen his grasp, even when he felt teeth clamp onto the skin of his arm.

"_OW! _Kenny, stop it! You have to…_have to calm down!_" he yelled, struggling to hold him down. In his panic he didn't notice that Kenny's fingernails were practically shredding his arms and deep gashes were appearing in his skin. Kenny's face had transformed viciously and his eyes were bloodshot, darting around and searching for any possible means of escape. Then he found one.

Damien felt the pain before he even knew what had happened. The impact of Kenny's knee against his groin sent him reeling onto the ground, gasping for breath. His body seemed to explode from the agony and he wheezed, blinking tears back. _The boy's fucking strong! _He thought this to himself deliriously as Kenny stumbled towards the window. He watched as the hooded boy stepped outside until he reached the side of the balcony before grasping the marble and lifting his leg over the edge. Conjuring up the last amount of strength he had inside of him, Damien willed Kenny back into the room.

His telekinetic powers, having been pushed back to the edge of his mind and remaining useless for so long were rusty and although he tried to haul Kenny back onto the bed the boy went flying into the wall, then lay on the ground motionless. Damien dragged himself to the window, pushing himself up and leaning on the window until it slid to a shut, vibrating from the impact. With a pained groan he collapsed on the ground, curling in upon himself and feeling absolutely exhausted.

A few hours seemed to pass until Kenny finally said something. Damien had not moved from his position on the ground except that his position had relaxed slightly and he was lying face-forward on the ground.

"I hate this place," were the first words passing his lips. Damien lifted his head wearily to glance at him. He felt his chest constrict when he caught sight of Kenny, who was lying there with his head limply on the pillow, eyes half-closed and lips tinged blue from the cold. Kenny's blue eyes darted to Damien's arms, hypnotically studying the long gashes on his skin. "Sorry about that…didn't mean to do it…" He looked away, swallowing guiltily and grimacing. "It's cold."

"You can use the blankets. Believe me, it gets worse. If you weren't already dead, you'd perish from the cold."

"If I weren't already dead…" Kenny repeated. A harsh, bitter laugh escaped his throat and his sat up. "I haven't died in two years, so _why now? _What changed? Why did God promise me freedom, then take it away so suddenly, so easily? Did I do something wrong? Or maybe my parents did something wrong. Does God punish people because of their parents?"

"What?"

"My parents were no-good, poor alcoholics who never did anything good in their life. And now I'm paying for it," he muttered bitterly. "I still wish I was with them again. And my friends. I miss my friends the most. I miss Stan and Kyle and Cartman and…and Craig. I really miss Craig." He closed his eyes, lips trembling. Damien gritted his teeth as jealousy burned inside of him from the way Kenny's mentioned his former crush slash boyfriend's name. "You don't know him but we had something before I…died. It was more than just a _thing_, it was…pretty special. I really liked him." Then he stopped, unwilling to talk about it anymore and Damien was more than willing to concede. He didn't want to hear how much Kenny was in love with Craig or whatever it was he felt for him.

Vaguely, in the back of his mind, he panicked.

What if Kenny never forgot about Craig? What if Kenny experienced the same feelings for Craig that Damien did whenever he was near Kenny?

Damien was certain that he would never stop loving Kenny, no matter what happened.

"_I want my friends!_" Kenny yelled, jumping up suddenly and leaping off the bed. "I don't want to be in Hell! I want to be in South Park, with my best, best friends and I want to have normal nights without screaming and tortured souls!" He burst into tears, rivers streaming down his cheeks and gasping huge, near limitless breaths. He had suddenly transformed from an adolescent throwing a tantrum to a young, lost child and flopped onto the ground, crossed legged as he tried to wipe away his tears.

Damien was immediately at his side, dropping onto the floor rapidly and wrapping arms around his trembling body. Kenny continued to cry, never stopping for countless hours. Damien said nothing, completely understanding the need to release the pain.

Everyone who came to Hell began with denial, and a hundred years later some were still continuing to delude themselves that it was simply a terrible dream. Kenny's realization had come early and the breakdown following it was short compared to other residents.

Once the light began to seep through the curtains he slowed, sniffling and rubbing his swollen eyes. They both hadn't moved for hours and Damien's limbs were getting incredibly stiff. He moved, stretching his legs but didn't let go of Kenny, whose head was leaning on his shoulder. The blonde's eyes were red and puffy and his cheeks shone. Damien took the time to observe his features – his lovely features – and point out to himself the freckles on Kenny's nose, and the messy, dirty blonde hair falling into his eyes and brushing his neck delicately. His arms tightened around the other almost protectively but Kenny didn't notice.

"So there's no way I can go home?" he asked hoarsely, voice barely above a whisper.

Damien sighed. "No. I'm sorry." His tone was incredibly apologetic, and the empathy was too great to be ignored. He truly felt for Kenny and understood the need to return to Earth, to life. Damien himself had craved life over death, but he'd soon forgotten the desire after a few years, instead dedicating himself to watching Kenny. He knew that practically stalking Kenny wasn't exactly the sanest thing to do, but Damien had been void of most human emotions and etiquette his whole life so it wasn't truly something strange when he interacted with serial killers and rapists and criminals on a regular basis.

Kenny spoke once again:

"I…I think I need to be alone for a while. Just to think and deal with things, you know?" He stood up, wobbling on numb legs. "It's nothing personal, but I need to work out the confusing stuff from the stuff that makes sense. Is that all right?"

So Damien left.

Everyday he returned, hesitating to knock on Kenny's door before finally deciding to not. He would return to his own room, cursing his lack of confidence and desperately wishing that Kenny would come talk to him of his own accord.

Weeks passed until Kenny had been in Hell for two months. It had driven Damien crazy not to see him for six weeks, not even to hear a word from him. Sometimes he wondered what was taking Kenny so long and considered going to his room and smashing the door down, demanding an answer but then he would quickly decide against it and retreat to some place away from Kenny's room. It was excruciating.

His encounters with all of the outside grew thin. He no longer talked to any of the demon workers – something he usually did on a daily basis – and although they were a poor human substitute, in the back of his mind he began to miss the companionship of anyone…anything.

Finally, one day, halfway into the third month of Kenny's death he raised his fist to the door, ready to knock when it swung open to reveal a content, albeit slightly dirty Kenny grinning at him. The grin was slightly strained but still reached his eyes and Damien felt his heart swoop with joy.

"Is everything okay now?"

"No, not really. But it will be," Kenny reassured. His voice was cheerful and loud, back to the old Kenny. He pulled his hood down to reveal slightly greasy hair – an indication that he hadn't showered for a few days. "You want to come in?"

"Actually, I was thinking I could show you around, introduce you to some of the people here and to all the fun places to chill at," Damien suggested carefully. Kenny pondered this for a second, then nodded, closing the door behind him. Suddenly he seemed life-like once again and although there was still some tiredness in his eyes he seemed relatively content. "I know Hell seems like a dump, but if you just _try_ and like, well, you never know." He spoke with a slightly excited voice, trying not to give away how ecstatic he was. Kenny's acceptance to being shown around his new home was something he had been waiting for.

"I guess I could try," Kenny said. "What's the drinking age in Hell?"

"What's a drinking age?"

Kenny laughed, putting his arm around Damien's waist and pulling him down the hall.


	7. Walking Through The City

**Notes: **Yay, a new chapter! I really love this story right now, and I'm so excited to get everything written down. I hope you guys like the latest chapter! I think that this is my favorite story that I have ever written and I swear I'm going to finish it! I'm also so excited to see the new episodes, I really missed watching South Park and right now there are three episodes that remain unwatched! Anyway, I hope you guys like this, it's more of a fun chapter with lots of interaction between characters.

Please review, because you know in your heart of hearts it makes me write faster and love this story even more. I need to know your thoughts!! And thanks so much to everyone who's reviewed so far, I love you guys so much!

Chapter Seven

Walking Through The City

Kyle gripped his hat tightly, waiting for the perfect moment to enter the room. His two friends, Stan and Cartman, stood behind him with the exact same hesitancy and discomfort. The three of them did not move, eyes locked onto the doorknob. Kyle's hand had been hovering above the doorknob for the past three minutes and in that time none of them had moved or made a sound.

A nurse approached him. "Is there a problem, Mr. Broflovski?"

"Uh…no! No problem at all. I was just _thinking_," he muttered, finally gathering up the courage to grasp the doorknob and open it. He was met with the bright light shining through the window into the hospital room and squinted, stepping inside. He was followed by Stan and Cartman, who closed the door behind him. "Hey, you guys. We just came by to visit. We heard that you woke up."

"Oh, uh, h-hey guys." Tweek looked all right, albeit slightly shaken and with a fading bruise on his left temple. Once it had faded there would be nothing left from the car crash.

"Are you doing okay, Tweek?" Stan asked. The twitching boy, dressed in hospital robes and sitting on a pale blue hospital bed, twitched and nodded.

"_Ngh! _Y-yeah, I'm much better now that I've woken up," he said. His hand spasmodically gripped Craig's hand as he spoke and although he was still trembling and convulsing occasionally, his exhaustion had calmed him down significantly. "They said I was – _gah! _– really lucky and I c-could have died, which would've been _way _too much pressure!" The sides of Kyle's mouth twitched slightly as he settled into one of the chairs. He was intensely grateful that Tweek was okay; he couldn't take the loss of another person. "I'm g-gonna go home in a few days. So _erk! _everything's good."

"How about you, Craig?"

Craig's eyes hadn't left Tweek and now, ever so reluctantly, he forced himself to look away and locked eyes with Kyle. His face was pale from lack of sleep, eyes surrounded by purple smudges and hair messy, wild from neglect. His hat was discarded on the floor and his clothes had obviously been thrown on impulsively without thought. Kyle looked down, not ready to see the indications of guilt and grief that he himself was struggling with.

"Ugh…" he croaked, rubbing his eyes. "Did you go to the uhh…funeral? How was it? Closed casket?"

"No, open."

"Wow, he would've fucking hated that." Kyle almost laughed. Everyone who knew Kenny knew him better than his own family, apparently. Craig's head drooped slightly and he turned away. Kyle could almost sense the guilt radiating like heat from him. He wanted to reach out and tell Craig that it was okay, that he didn't blame him, but he just couldn't. The words wouldn't form; he needed more time. He couldn't forgive him just yet. Kenny's death was too raw in his mind. And there was always the need to point blame, even when it wasn't deserved.

Craig seemed to sense this; maybe Kyle's face twisted in a reproachful expression and he withdrew slightly. His left hand lifted – almost as if to give Kyle the finger instinctively – but he hesitated and then let it drop. Kyle was grateful. If Craig had flipped him off he wouldn't have been able to stop himself from attempting to murder him. And he doubted Cartman or Stan would have been able to stop him.

"How are…Token and Clyde? They came by here a few days ago but…they didn't stay for very long," Craig said. His voice was flat and emotionless. "I think Clyde's Dad might have given him shit about…about the car. But not too much, considering what happened. He's just shocked is all."

"We never got to see _The Raging Pussies_," Stan stated all of a sudden. "I was planning to try and climb on stage, maybe latch myself to the lead singer's legs, you know?"

Kyle snorted, the image of Stan grabbing desperately at the band member's leg too much for him. The other boys cracked a smile – even Tweek, whose twitch and quick grimace the only form of a smile he could conjure at the moment.

"It would've been amazing. _He _probably would've gotten completely wasted, jumped on the stage and try to kidnap one of them." Kyle found that he couldn't mention _his _name.

"Nah, not again. Plus last time he did that he almost got arrested. He would've come up with something completely new this time for sure." Kyle nodded in agreement. They said nothing, suddenly feeling weary. Kyle hunched, pulling his hat back over his head. Tweek, amazingly, was the first to broach the subject.

"I-is there any chance that he might – _erk! - _come back?"

"Maybe. It _is _Kenny we're talking about. He always comes back," Stan said. His voice was doubtful and wavering, which made his words seem empty to them. "Kenny doesn't die permanently. Maybe this time it's just taking…a little longer for him to come back."

"If not I'll go down there myself and fucking _make _him come back," Cartman said. "Nobody disrespects _mah authoritah!_" Kyle opened his mouth, then shut it. Now was not a good time.

"You remember when he got that muscular disease?" he forced himself to say, ignoring Cartman. "He didn't come back for a whole _year_. This is…K-Kenny we're talking about. He'll be back. You know he will." His voice was resolute and for a second they cheered up slightly and resumed talking about more cheerful things. Sure, a tragedy had just occurred, but they found it comforting not to constantly dwell on it, although once they were alone they wouldn't be able to escape it.

Gradually the conversation faded and they were left drained from the effort. Kyle noticed that about an hour and a half had passed, which was surprising because it had seemed like so much longer.

He dragged his eyes over to Stan, whose hat was dangling from his fingers. He looked just as tired as Kyle felt, if not more so, and was hunched in his chair. They were silent for the next hour, the only sound heard the ticking of the clock. Strangely, even Tweek was silent, and he'd stopped shivering.

Kyle thought intensely about the possibility of Kenny coming back. He knew how Kenny had stopped dying – he'd been there to witness every event – but what he didn't know was that, once he was granted a normal life, would he still be able to reincarnate? Kenny was a special case. Since he'd been alive for so long, maybe it would take longer for him to come back. Kyle hoped that this was so. He had discussed it with Stan and had viciously fought for this case until Stan had almost been convinced that Kyle was the expert on reincarnation.

Cartman was looking slightly bored. The fatass never changed. Even though his friend had just died, he was still selfish and Kyle heard the distinct sound of his stomach rumbling.

"You _guuuuuys_…"

"Yeah, alright. We should go eat now. It's getting late and they're going to kick us out soon anyway," Stan said before Kyle could interrupt. The redhead had just been about to suggest the same thing, feeling like they had outworn their welcome. Plus Craig and Tweek were probably more comfortable when they were alone, being best friends and all. Something alerted him, nagged him at the back of his mind and he watched the two of them. Quickly, he shrugged the feeling off, sensing that he'd stepped into forbidden territory.

"Stay cool, man, stay cool," Cartman said to Craig and Tweek. Kyle rolled his eyes but felt slightly amused.

"See you later, okay? And Tweek, get better will you?"

"I w-will."

Stan closed the door behind them. They were silent, but Cartman was clutching his stomach and groaning, obviously irritated at his hunger. He was still pudgy and although his teenage growth spurt had helped he would soon gain back his previous figure if he wasn't careful.

"I'll see you guys later. I'm gonna call my mom and ask he to bring me to KFC," he said and without waiting for an answer he walked off, leaving them alone. Stan shook his head exasperatedly.

"He never changes, always putting his stomach before anything else. It's almost…comfortable. He's dealing with it better than we are," Kyle said. Stan scoffed, shooting him a skeptic look.

"He's not dealing with it at all. It's _Cartman_. His only real – well, kind of real - friends are Butters and Kenny. And now Kenny…isn't here anymore. Cartman's never been one to show how much he cares about people. He's not dealing, he's in complete denial," Stan muttered. Kyle opened his mouth, then stopped and decided that Stan knew Cartman more than he did. After all, Cartman was just the annoying fatass who ragged on him for being Jewish. They were friends simply because Cartman was always there, but Kyle avoided being alone with him as much as possible, knowing that any conversation with Cartman would end in some epic, raging battle.

"Do you _really _think Kenny's coming back?" he demanded. They were silent, the only sound the footsteps of the few people walking in the hallway. Stan wasn't facing him and his back had tensed up slightly. Then he turned around. Kyle bit his lip and looked down, suddenly regretting his question. He wished that the silence would be over and that he would just shrug or say _yes _or just do _something_…

Stan glanced at him, reaching out to grab his wrist. His fingers curled around his skinny arm and he held on, gripping him tightly. Kyle felt his stomach lurch and his face grow warm – but he didn't understand why. Stan opened his mouth, then closed it, shaking his head. He was silent for a second, his eyes lingering on Kyle's blush before he let go of his hand. Kyle's wrist was warm where Stan had been holding it. The jock didn't say anything, simply shrugged and left the same way Cartman had gone. Kyle frowned, unsure of what had just happened. The moment had been so quick, so unexpected that he wondered if it had really happened. "Goddamnit."

00000

His vision was blurry, objects that usually stood still trembling and shaking violently. His head began to spin from dizziness and suddenly he felt like he was floating. It was a strange yet completely familiar feeling and he reveled in it. It was the same feeling that he basked in when he had been on Earth, guzzling down the cheap vodka that he'd stolen from his father's stash and stumbling out into the night, completely plastered beyond all conscious thought. Except the feelings were enhanced to an incredible height. His mind was so incredibly fogged up that he barely knew what he was saying.

Kenny reached out before him, his hands moving sluggishly. "Whoa…this is even better than on Earth," he mumbled.

"Sinning is much more enjoyable in Hell; it's encouraged here," was the almost immediate, slurred reply. Damien's face was pained, eyebrows knitted together in an expression of concentration as he walked towards Kenny. "It's been ages since I've been out partying. I never really partied, just sat in the corner taking shots and setting fire to people who annoyed me." Kenny chuckled.

They had hit the streets after five hours, light-headed and singing loudly. Damien's presence meant that the two of them were always served first, so after downing about thirty drinks he'd been forced to cut himself off and crawl out of the bar, Damien laughing hysterically as he followed.

"This is going to give me a major hangover," Kenny moaned. He was suddenly reminded of when he and Stan had forced the studious Kyle out to a nightclub for his first time – he'd gotten completely wasted, puked on both of them, passed out in his bathroom and swore never to do it again. Of course Kenny had managed to convince him to do it a few more times and they'd had a lot of fun. The memory made him smile. It still pained him to think of South Park, but the pain was duller.

He watched as Damien began to climb a tree, hands grasping the branches tightly. The black-haired boy had surprised him when he'd challenged him to a drinking game, then had celebrated his victory by jumping on the table and crowing victoriously. Kenny had watched in awe; Damien had never shown any indication that he knew how to have fun, Kenny-style!

"I don't get hangovers," Damien said smugly, carefully stepping on the branch in front of him. He was perched on the tree, chest puffed out as if ready to give a big speech. Kenny flipped him the finger woozily, sitting back onto the ground. The grass lurched up before dropping, making his stomach heave and pitch. He grimaced, clutching his stomach and standing up on wobbly legs. The world began to spin violently and the urge to puke hit him before he could stop it. "Kenny, what's wrong?" All Kenny could hear though was _"Kuurhh whurrrh hurrrong". _The strange sounds Damien was emittingmade him laugh and his nausea cleared up. Amidst the fog he saw Damien's delighted grin and felt something stir inside of him.

The son of Satan jumped down in front of him, face much closer than would have been comfortable if either of them had been sober. Instead, Kenny giggled as their noses touched, grabbing Damien's shoulders.

"You don't look like your dad," he said with surprising clarity.

"Thank Satan I don't," Damien chuckled. Was it just Kenny's imagination, or did Damien seem very sober? This fazed Kenny slightly, but then decided that he was wasted to the point that everyone else seemed sober compared to him. Instead of letting it bother him, he threw his arms around Damien's neck and grinned. Damien shifted uncomfortably, or was it just Kenny's head messing with him? He knew that in South Park, most of the girls (and guys) he had shown interest in had immediately been flattered and even those that he had thrown himself upon had always, _always _reciprocated his actions. And those who resisted would be swayed with certain persuasion.

Kenny's buried his fingers in Damien's thick black hair, smiling dreamily. "You know…you should've stayed in South Park. We would've been awesome friendssss," he mumbled. Damien tried to pry his hands off, still looking slightly awkward. Kenny resisted, giggling obliviously. "I could've introduced you to Crai-iiig and Shtaan and Kaahl and Caaaartman and Buuuttershh…" His voice trailed off as he attempted to list every single one of his classmates. Damien had tensed slightly under his grip.

"Kenny, I think you need to sit now," Damien said, laughing slightly. His voice carried a tone of urgency that Kenny refused to hear.

"We had sho ma-any adventures. Once we even formed a boy band but I got shmushed," he mumbled. "You remember right? It was in the 3rd grade, when your dad stopped letting you go to school. And I barely knew you but I could hear you screaming at him and crying and swearing."

Kenny squinted his eyes, examining the boy who was currently supporting him. The son of Satan was incredibly handsome; perhaps it was the deep red, piercing glare or the thick, black-as-night hair that hung over his eyes and curled slightly around his ear. He knew that it wasn't just the alcohol, after all, he'd always felt a tingle of attraction around him.

"I'm really…really…sorry that you…" Kenny slurred, leaning in closer. Damien seemed slightly frozen when he realized what Kenny was about to do. There was no doubt about, no chance of a misunderstanding. His hands gripped Kenny's arms and Kenny couldn't tell if he was pulling him closer or pushing him away. It didn't matter to him.

The blonde couldn't stop himself, moving closer to Damien, until he was almost…almost…

Nauseous.

He felt nauseous.

Damien recognized the expression on his face immediately, grabbed him and hauled him towards the dumpster. As Kenny cleared his stomach he could hear the other boy laughing hysterically at his predicament. His stomach was cramping painfully and he envied the fact that Damien didn't get sick from alcohol. The other boy wasn't helping, just laughing as he finished, collapsing onto his butt and groaning from exhaustion, all previous moments completely forgotten. He forgot what he had just been about to do and the tension dissipated immediately.

His mind was whirling from the alcohol and he had sobered up ever so slightly from the shock of throwing up. He felt his stomach settle down slowly and grimaced from the odd taste in his mouth.

"Are you all right now?" Damien asked. He was holding back laughter and his face was slowly turning red. Kenny glared at him furiously, flipping him the bird and stumbling to his feet. "I'm sorry. It must have been the rum shots. Barcadi is disgusting. You've turned green, by the way." He burst into hysterics.

"It wasn't just the rum shots…I only had two of those…and seven vodka shots…six Margaritas…twelve tequila shots…a Smirnoff Ice…three beers. Jesus Christ, if I were on Earth I would've been dead from alcohol poisoning. But all I feel is…slightly hammered beyond reason," Kenny muttered. "I love being in Hell. I think the best part was when we blew up those cars…" He giggled as he remembered the epic explosions that Damien had created in order to entertain him.

"Okay, you look like you need something to eat. Come on, I have a surprise for you," Damien said, grabbing his wrist and pulling him.

"Shut yo' fucking face, uncle fuckaaaaa," Kenny sang, allowing himself to be dragged. His legs collapsed underneath him and Damien was literally dragging him down the street towards his house. Thankfully the demon boy was strong and was barely affected by the extra weight, allowing Kenny to continue singing. He glanced up to the sky, frowning. The clouds had gathered and a reddish hue was beginning to appear, which could be a warning that 'night' would fall in a few hours. It was a warning that only Damien and a few others could recognize and he shuddered, quickening his pace.

He stepped off the pavement and onto the road. A mangled body moaned as he accidentally kicked aside its legs and he mumbled an apology. The person reached up, flailed and snagged onto Kenny's pant leg. Kenny keened from horror and froze. "Damien, it's holding me. It's _touching me_!" His voice trembled and was slightly shrill with hysteria.

The corpse, in a zombie-like manner, began to drag itself onto Kenny who was trembling with horror. It wasn't fear – the _thing _couldn't hurt him – but disgust and nausea. The face of the once-alive human wasn't even recognizable as male or female. He stared as maggots crawled out of its eye socket and rotting teeth fell out of its gaping mouth. "_Damien! Damien! Help me!_"

Damien jumped forward, his foot connecting with the body's head. The corpse flew backwards, landing ungracefully onto the road and onto another body where it remained lifeless and unmoving. Kenny stared at it for a few seconds, the event being so quick and unexpected that he wasn't sure what to say. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a flask, downing the rest of the whiskey. Immediately he was snapped out of his trance and, slightly more nervous than before, latched onto Damien's arm with a vise-like grip.

"I'm just going to stick near you for the moment," he mumbled, gripping Damien's arm with enough force to stop blood flow. Damien was silent for a second, then in an awkward movement reached up to pat Kenny's head. It was a strange action but Kenny simply smiled at him sweetly and began to walk forward.

You're going to have to get used to that," Damien warned, but his voice was cracking slightly. Kenny wondered why but didn't dwell on it. He simply stared at the multiple corpses littering the ground. There had been a lot of decaying bodies in the bar as well. It was the result of people who had been tortured beyond recognition and mentally broken. They often just lay down on the street to rot, looking like corpses and staying there for the rest of eternity.

"That's sick man. Utterly, grossly, sickly _sick_," Kenny whined. He buried his face in Damien's shoulder and he felt Damien's legs tremble, but blamed it on the alcohol. "Why don't you _do something_ about them? Why doesn't your dad help them? He should do something to help them out."

"My dad doesn't give a flying fuck about them. They're finished their eternal punishment. Now all they can do is just lie down and waste away for the rest of eternity. And I can't help them. The rule is to just stay away from them because if they get the chance they'll rip you to shreds. Especially during the night. Even I wouldn't be able to stop them, so just ignore them and don't let them touch you," he instructed.

They said nothing to each other for the rest of the walk, but slowly the mood lightened and soon enough Kenny decided that he was a cat and began to attempt to climb all over Damien while the other boy was batting away the flask of whiskey that the other boy threatened to force feed him. It ended up with Kenny latched onto Damien's left arm and being half-dragged towards Damien's house, which was looming on the horizon.

Damien glanced at Kenny, a smile gracing his features as he noticed that Kenny's eyelids were drooping slightly. The blond boy's face was slightly red, causing his freckles to darken and Damien found it ridiculously hard to resist reaching forwards to peck him on the nose. He managed to stop himself only due to the crippling fear that once he showed his true feelings Kenny would reject him and, even worse, leave the house in order to be as far away from him as possible.

"Kenny, we're almost there, okay? Don't pass out yet," he commanded.

"Siryessir," was the reply. Kenny attempted to begin walking and he managed for a few minutes, wobbling dangerously and walking with only Damien to support him. Then, once they reached Damien's mansion Kenny pitched forward, groaning about his empty stomach and clutching at the front of his shirt. "I'm huuuuungry." Damien grinned widely until his face almost split in two.

"I have a surprise for you, okay? Just stay awake, you promise me?" he ordered. Kenny nodded and stumbled forward, slinging his arm over Damien's shoulders as the dark-haired boy led him to the kitchen. He was experiencing double vision and attempted to sit on his chair, which was moving under his gaze. "You okay, Kenny?"

"Mmhmm," he mumbled absent-mindedly. His brain was scrambled but he was sobering up slightly and the unwanted nausea was beginning to return.

"Kenny, I'd like you to meet someone," Damien said. He cupped Kenny's face and lifted his chin so that he wasn't facing his shoes. A blurry figure appeared in his sight and he squinted, trying to ascertain who was standing in front of him.

"Why, hello children," the figure said cheerfully, waving a large hand in front of his face.

"Hey, Chef," Kenny replied mechanically. He bit his lip, realizing that something was nagging in the back of his- "_CHEF!" _The word burst from his lips like a scream and all of a sudden all alcoholic influence seem to have been expelled by the shock and he jumped off his chair, ignoring the fact that it clattered behind him. "CHEF! Oh my god, it's Chef! Oh Jesus Christ! Chef! It's Chef! Chef!" He was buzzing with excitement and before he could stop himself he pounced forward and hugged his old friend as hard as he could, tears welling up in the corners of his eyes.

"It's good to see you, Kenny," Chef said, hugging him back. Kenny found himself wishing desperately that Stan and Kyle and Cartman had been here too. They would have been ecstatic to see Chef, their old friend who they still missed and talked about. The four had been devastated at the loss, but now Kenny felt himself bursting with happiness. He had never _imagined_-

"Chef, what are you doing in Hell?" he questioned, eyes wide and confused. He couldn't imagine a wonderful person like Chef going to Hell.

"Well, Kenny, making love to sweet women before marriage is a sin. And that's why I came down here instead of up to Heaven. But Damien saw me and hired me as the cook," Chef explained. Kenny couldn't hold back his grin as he heard the sound of Chef's mellow voice once again. He stared at the white hat that Chef was wearing, the same one he had worn those nine years ago when he had died. It was comforting and familiar and brought back memories of South Park. But instead of this making him feel distraught it warmed him and he couldn't help but grin.

"I'm so glad you're here, Chef. We really missed you in South Park. The guys would be so jealous if they found out that you were here with me," he crowed.

"I'm glad you're here too, Kenny. I've missed all you children and always regret the day I joined the Super Adventure Club. If I hadn't been a fool, then I would still be in South Park making Salisbury Steak and seeing you boys everyday," he said. Kenny's smile turned into a sad one.

"Well, not me. Not anymore," he said. He sat back down on his chair, shaking his head. "I'm not going back, Chef. It's permanent this time. I don't know how it happened, or why, but I'm staying this time." His voice was barely a whisper and to his left he saw Damien stiffen and then look away.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Kenny. I know, why don't I make you some Salisbury steak to cheer you up?" Chef suggested. Kenny nodded enthusiastically, jumping up from his chair.

"Yes! That would be fucking awesome!" he cried. "Damien, you have to eat this! Chef's Salisbury steak is the best!" He ran towards the shelves and began to grab plates and cutlery, trembling with excitement. Damien smirked and helped him as he grabbed a chair and opened the fridge. The fridge was ridiculously immense and almost half as big as the kitchen. He carried the chair inside, propped it onto the ground and stood on it, rifling through the frozen foods.

"Kenny, don't use that chair, it's really high and not very stable," he warned. Chef stood up and went to go prepare the steak. He heard Kenny reply:

"Oh, you worry too much. It's only for a second. Look, there's spaghetti in here. You want me to grab it? I think I can reach it if I try." There was a scrambling sound, and then the creaking of wood, which Chef assumed was the chair. "Oh wow, it looks amazing. I'm totally getting some. You want?"

"No way, it's too high. And the chair's wobbling. No, Kenny, for God's sake don't-" He was interrupted by the chirpy voice of the blond.

"Aw, stop worrying Damien, I'll be fine." This was followed by a shuffling sound and then an even louder creak.

"I'm not worrying, I'm just _holyshit! Nonnononostopstopgyaaaaaaahhhh-_"

Chef looked up as he heard a loud shriek and the sound of cans and solid, frozen objects crashing to the ground. The silence lasted for a second, and then it was followed by a shriek of fury. The door slammed open and Damien stormed out, covered in cold spaghetti and meatballs. His face was twisted into an irate expression and a completely clean Kenny, laughing hysterically as his friend nearly slipped over a noodle, almost immediately followed after him.

"I _told _you not to use that chair!" Damien snarled. Kenny was too absorbed in his laughter to even consider talking and instead wiped tears from his eyes. The son of Satan simply flipped him the finger and stormed out, flinging spaghetti and sauce behind him. Kenny had flopped onto the table, still giggling uncontrollably and simply watched as the dark-haired boy continued down the hall and out of sight, leaving a trail of food in his wake.

"I'll apologize to him later," he chuckled, running his hand through his hair. "He's really something, you know? First time I met him he turned me into a platypus, and I thought I'd never get along with him. But I wouldn't have made it through this without him, sanity intact, and now we've grown closer than I ever imagined." He glanced at the doorway, then back at Chef who was watching him. "Do you like him, Chef?"

"Well I think he's certainly better than he was before. And I'm glad you've made a friend, Kenny. But…I think that maybe there's something more going on here," Chef said. He was, after all, an expert on lust and had immediately recognized the spark between the two of them. Damien's love for Kenny was obvious, but he watched Kenny, wondering if he returned those feelings.

"What do you mean, Chef? Like, _best _friends? I don't know about that, I've only known his for a little bit. But since I'm here for eternity I guess it could-"

"No, no, Kenny, you don't understand what I mean," Chef said, raising his hands do stop him. "How do I explain this? He wants to do to you what I want to do with women. Like when I make love to women."

"What?" Kenny said flatly.

"Let me sing you a song to explain. _I'm gonna make love to you woman, gonna lay you down by the fi-yah-"_

"Chef, Damien doesn't feel that way about me. He's straight," Kenny interrupted. "And even if he weren't, he's never said anything to me. So I'm pretty sure he isn't interested in me in that way."

"Are you sure about that, Kenny?"

"I…well, yeah!" Kenny spluttered, suddenly unsure of what was being asked of him. "Is…he? I can usually tell when someone's interested and so far I haven't noticed anything. He would have said something, wouldn't he? Or at least his actions would've shown something..." He stopped abruptly, then glanced up at Chef with a doubtful look. "What do you think?"

Chef didn't say anything, but he began to hum a tune under his breath and Kenny didn't say anything, knowing that Chef was now in a completely different world and imagining himself under the stars on a grassy field and huddling under a blanket with the most beautiful woman in the world.


	8. The List

**Disclaimer: **I, unfortunately, don't own any of the South Park characters, but I _do _own Marcus, Vivian and Arrow. Small cheer for that!

**Notes: **This is the longest chapter so far! And it's my favorite too. Thank to all of my reviewers, I love you guys so much! I hope you enjoy this, I wrote it all in one night and slept at 4 am. Oh my God, the workload in school has been crazy, which is why I made myself write this all in one night. But it's all for you guys!

Please review! I love reviews. Almost as much as I love South Park!

Chapter Eight

The List

On the wall next to Damien's window there was a large painting of Satan standing with his five-year-old son next to him. The ruler of Hell was beaming down at his child while Damien had a sulky look on his face and had his arms crossed defiantly. The photograph was about twelve years old and Damien had barely changed in that time, simply lost his baby fat and had grown even taller than Craig. But there was still that dark aura around him and the expression of defiance when he was around his father.

Kenny loved the painting. Damien's walls were plastered with posters, photographs, stickers and random drawings that he had done when he was bored. Kenny noted that Damien was a pretty good cartoonist, but he wasn't surprised considering how much time Damien had had almost completely alone.

The moment he entered Damien's room the first thing he did was walk to the other end of the room in order to stare at the photograph.

"Why are you so obsessed with that painting?" Damien asked, mouth turning down in distaste. His obvious dislike towards it was what drew Kenny to it in the first place. He had seen Damien glaring at it and noticed for the first time. And now he enjoyed going to study it.

"I don't know. I just really, really like it. You look so small and…annoyed," he said. His eyes traveled to Satan who had a bright, genuine smile on his face. It was a strange contrast to the Satan he was accustomed to, the one who was dark and cruel and…for lack of better word, _insane _with power. "It reminds me of when we first met you, how you were such a little asshole and turned me into a platypus and the guys hated you. But then you didn't seem so bad and you had to _leave_."

Damien nodded, still avoiding looking at the picture. Kenny was about to turn away when he noticed that Satan was holding a thick, ancient-looking book to his chest. He hadn't noticed it previously because Satan's hand was so ridiculously large it nearly swallowed the book whole. But he made out the gold-rimmed edges and tattered cover beneath the fingers. "Why's Satan holding a book?"

"That? That's the List. It holds the deaths of every single person ever conceived, including details on what age they die, how much time they have left and how they die. It's what my Dad uses to keep track on which souls he has to amass next," Damien answered casually. There was a long pause and when he finally decided to look up, the look on Kenny's face was one of pure curiosity and pleading. "Uh…do you…want to see it?"

He was attacked by a whirlwind of orange as Kenny shrieked and threw himself onto the older boy, wrapping arms around him in a tight hug. "_Seriously? Can I? Can I? Can I?" _His excitement was tangible but Damien was concentrating on keeping his balance as the mere physical contact was making him delirious with happiness. Kenny's hair was tickling his chin and it was taking all of his effort not to grab him, throw him down and…do _bad _things to him. Feeling himself getting turned on by the thought he pushed Kenny away, eyebrow raised in amusement to cover up his embarrassment.

"Why are you so excited about it? It's not that interesting," he said. "It's not like you could actually change any of the information if you…saw something you didn't like." Kenny shrugged, but his happiness didn't change. He was just curious to know about his friends, so Damien relented and brought him to the living room.

He reached for a single book on the bookshelf that looked identical to every other book and brought it to where Kenny was sitting. The pages were slightly faded at the edges and yellowing from time until there was nothing left of its once white color. The corners were rounded and the pages were ripped and curled from misuse. The covers were almost falling off and were barely hanging on while the pages inside were just as abused. Kenny stared as Damien dropped it onto the table, not really sure what to say. Damien was treating it with little respect, flipping through the pages and even ripping a few.

"Shouldn't you be more careful?" Kenny questioned. "It seems like a pretty important book, considering what it holds. And it looks like it'll fall apart any second." Damien glanced up, and then shrugged.

"Actually, my dad uses modern technology to keep up with the upcoming deaths. He has the list on his laptop and all the Reapers are sent the lists of their targets on their Blackberries. It's much more convenient than before, when we had to keep printing out new editions of this book every time it was torn apart. Takes a lot of magic to create this, and Dad decided that using computers would be more efficient, so we switched," he said. Kenny listened to this with slight disbelief. Then again, almost anything was possible in Hell. "The only reason I'm using this one is because technically he and the Reapers are the only ones allowed to see the list. And even then, the Reapers are only allowed to see their designated victims."

"Reapers?" Kenny echoed.

"They kill people who are meant to die and bring their souls down here. It's pretty much their job. Only people who've proved themselves loyal to Satan get to be privileges. It's the second highest privilege, third highest being in his Army and highest of all being a Commander of a section of his Army. If you command one of the divisions then you pretty much have power over everyone except Satan and on some level, me," he said, grinning proudly. Then he added with a bitter note, "_Arrow_ is a Commander. He leads the biggest team of soldiers in the Army."

"Arrow?"

"He's…a guy who is indirectly under my command. I'm pretty much able to order him around unless it concerns his soldiers or we're in the middle of a war. He hates me more than he hates anything. And he hates _a lot_ of things. But he's been threatening to destroy me ever since I let it slip that he framed another Commander for a mistake he made and my Dad went nuts, almost stripped him of his title and sentence him to eternal punishment, but since Arrow's the best man he's ever had working for him, he let it slide," he explained. "Ah! Here we go! I have The C's. Maybe you want to search up Cartman?"

Kenny, feeling a knot of excitement in his stomach, looked at the page in the book. The book was quite thick, but as he grabbed the pages and flipped through them he watched as the pages grew to a seemingly never ending amount and realized that they held the death days of every single person in the world and more.

"What about people being born just now?" he asked curiously, searching through the list of C's. He flicked the page over and continued to search.

"It's updated every six minutes, so soon the names will begin to shift around to make space for he new names being added and the old names being taken out. Kenny nodded. The amount of time they had left was measured by years, months, weeks, days, minutes and seconds and even as he watched, an Elaine Cameron's seconds went from three to zero. He shivered, realizing that at that very second she was probably arriving at the Terminal. He continued his search for Cartman.

"C…C…C…ah! Here it is. Cartman, Eric," Kenny stated proudly. He pointed towards the name and read the details of Cartman's death. "He dies when he's 85 years old. Damn, he's going to be _old_ when he gets here. And, lemme see. Right, he dies of a heart attack. How am I not surprised? Fat bastard." He chuckled and began to flip through the book, eyes searching for another name. "How unfair that a guy like Cartman gets to live until he's 85 while others die before they even become teens."

"What are you doing now?" Damien asked.

"I'm trying to find Clyde," he said. He rifled through the pages and Damien watched him silently, staring intently at the contours of his beautiful face, the way his lips were pursed in concentration and how his eyes would light up when he found who he was looking for. Damien couldn't stop himself from outwardly admiring the boy and, almost impossibly, he was more in love with Kenny than he had been upon first meeting him. Except now, instead of admiring him from a distance, Kenny was _here_, in front of him. And Damien could just reach out and touch him. The thought made his whole body tense with excitement and he felt a shiver run through him.

"Donovan, Clyde. 68 years old, drowns in a swimming pool. Ah, sucks to be him," Kenny said, continuing his search. Damien's lips spread into an easy smile as he watched Kenny's fringe fall over his eyes. He could see the freckles on his nose and stared openly, admiring how wonderful the young boy was and, without thinking, reached up and touched Kenny's cheek. The blond boy's skin was soft under his fingertips and warmth spread up his arm. Kenny glanced up at him, surprised and Damien dropped his hand, mumbling about chocolate on his cheek. Kenny smiled briefly, then began to look for Kyle.

"Damn it, I can never remember how to spell Kyle's name," he mumbled. He flipped through the pages impatiently. "There's an 'r' after the B, right? And then what, an 'a'? Or 'o'?" He started to get frustrated. "Damn it! Stupid, long, hard-to-spell name! Damn it!"

"Maybe you should give up on Kyle," Damien suggested. "Try someone else. Like Stan. Stan has any easy name." He stood up, walked to Kenny's side of the table and sat down next to him, as close as possible without being too suspicious. He glanced down at the pages, scanning the names and types of deaths. Kenny turned the page too far – instead of landing on M the page opened to T.

"Turner, Eugene, dies of a heart attack during sex at age 56. _Nice_," he laughed. Kenny snickered, but Damien noticed that his eyes were desperately searching for a single person.

_Craig Tucker. _

There wasn't enough time for Damien to burst with jealousy. The feeling of resentment rose within him like lava in a volcano, ready to erupt at any second and, unable to stop himself he gripped Kenny's thigh, fingers digging into his pants. Kenny didn't even notice. He turned to the hooded boy, watching in confusion as Kenny's eyes widened, skin paled and lips parted in shock. All the blood had drained from his face and his hands began to tremble so violently that the book dropped back onto the table with a _thud_.

Damien didn't have to ask him what was wrong. It was clear enough without any questions and he felt nauseous at just the thought of how his life was going to change. Gently he pulled the book away and searched for Craig's name until he found it.

_Tucker, Craig. South Park. 17 years old. Five days and twenty minutes. Hit by truck and dies of punctured lung. _

He shut his eyes and groaned softly, hearing his breath whistling between his teeth. He expected his mind to whirl with hundreds of thousands of stray, panicked thoughts but instead there was nothing. Everything was blank from despair and confusion. He had thought that he would have reacted much worse than this, but at the moment he felt empty and scared, but he hadn't hit rock bottom yet. This was a problem that could be solved if he wanted to solve it. It would just mean that he would get in a shit load of trouble but…_Kenny. _

The blonde meant more to him than anything in the entire universe and, unlike before, where he had stood by and allowed Kenny to fall for Craig and simply cried about it in bed. No, this time, Kenny was _here_. And Damien wasn't that much of a pussy to simply let Kenny out of his grasp like before. He was going to fight for Kenny, no matter what it took. He wasn't going to stand in the sidelines and feel his heart shatter anymore.

"Kenny. Kenny, look at me," he said firmly, putting his fingers under Kenny's chin and lifting his face up so that they were looking directly into each others eyes. Kenny's eyes were shining with unshed tears, but they weren't tears of sadness. The poor boy was too bewildered to be sad. "It's going to be okay. Everything's going to be fine."

"No! Everything's _not _going to be fine!" Kenny snapped, slamming the book shut. He stood up, crossing the room and kicking the wall, obviously not sure how to take out his frustration. "Craig's going to…going to _die _and he's going to end up like me and it's _not _going to be fine!" He paused, unsure of what to do next. His breathing became slightly erratic and Damien just watched him calmly, waiting until he was finished. "Craig _can't _die! He's supposed to be alive, and go to university and grow up and…_fuck! _This isn't fair!"

"Life isn't fair," Damien interjected, slowly walking to where Kenny was. Kenny shot him a look and sighed, hunching his shoulders in defeat.

"It's just…I died already. And I had to leave everyone in South Park, you know? But now, I've moved on, and I've accepted it. But if Craig dies then he's going to have to go through all this shit, and my friends are going to have to mourn him and everything's going to be confusing. Everything's going to _change_. And…I've come to terms with the way things are. I like the way things are," he said, looking down shamefully. "Craig doesn't deserve to die. He doesn't deserve any of this. He should _live_."

And on that final note, he sat down stiffly on the couch and looked up at Damien expectantly, certain that he had the answer to all of this. His eyes, so blue and hypnotizing – were unlike any that Damien had ever seen before. He was caught, trapped like a deer in headlights and paralyzed by the mere power of Kenny's gaze. It was a feeling that was so familiar, and yet completely unexpected and new every time he experienced it. There was no escaping his feelings, but now he reveled in them instead of cursing them.

He went down on his knees, clasping Kenny's hands tightly with his own. He'd never been in such a vulnerable position before and if it were anyone else he would have hated it, loathed every second he opened himself up to someone like this. But as Kenny looked down at him it was all he could do not to concentrate on the tingling warmth in his chest.

"Kenny, I can fix this. I can take his name away, if that's what you want." He kept his voice calm, but he could hear it waver slightly and hoped that the blond couldn't hear it. "You're right – Craig doesn't deserve to die and I can save him, if that's what it takes for you to be…happy." He grimaced at how lame this sounded but he was having trouble stringing together sentences at the moment. Kenny stared at him, unsure of what to say to this.

"Won't…won't you get in trouble? Are you allowed to do that?"

"I'm not allowed, and I'll get in a lot of trouble, I'm sure of it. But I'd do it for you, if it means that much to you," he insisted. Kenny was obviously torn between wanting to save his ex-crush and wanting to keep Damien from trouble. His loyalties weren't clear to him anymore and suddenly he had to make a choice between the two he cared about so much.

As Kenny stared at Damien, he suddenly felt an explosion of gratitude towards him as he realized how much the boy was offering. Silently, he nodded his head and Damien cupped his cheek. He was surprised by the lovely tingling that was left behind when Damien stood up, walking towards the book. He reached up to touch his cheek, frowning slightly. That was new.

Damien opened the book to the correct page, absolutely ecstatic about Kenny's choice. In a quick, easy motion he swept his thumb over Craig Tucker's name and the word began to disappear slowly, painfully. Craig's fate, Craig's death, Craig's early ending was not going to happen. In six minutes his name would reappear with a different destiny, and a death much farther away from the present than the current one.

And as Damien watched the name slowly fade he felt a great satisfaction, a relief as he realized that Craig was no longer a threat to his relationship with Kenny. Yes, his motive has been selfish and although he wanted to make Kenny happy, he knew that the only true reason he'd done it was because he couldn't _stand _the thought that Craig might die and Kenny would find himself falling for him once again. Damien was too self-seeking to allow that to happen.

The thought of losing Kenny now, after being _so close _to having what he had dreamed of for the past two years was excruciating. The mere thought that Kenny would never reciprocate his feelings made his stomach tighten agonizingly, but he had so easily eliminated the threat of Kenny's old life and now he was keeping Kenny all to himself. Yes, it was manipulative, yes it was selfish. But _damn it_, Damien adored Kenny too much to allow himself to watch him turn away.

"It's done. It's done, I promise. He's not going to die," he said. Kenny nodded silently, watching him with a strange look on his face. Damien wasn't sure how to place it, wasn't sure that he wanted to. He was scared that Kenny could see through his façade, see what a truly self-serving person he was.

But at the moment he had bigger things to worry about. He had just broken one of the fundamental rules. Never mess with the fucking List. _Never_. The List was under Satan's control and he was alerted to any activity concerning the deaths. Now Damien had changed something, and now he was in big shit. He couldn't even imagine the wrath of Satan, the _real _Satan. The one who didn't even spare his son from torment.

"Kenny, go to my room and stay there. Don't come out, no matter what, and wait until I come back." This was a command, not a suggestion, and to Damien's immense relief Kenny nodded and left the room, only turning back for a second to smile at him before leaving.

The smile was enough to keep Damien together as his father materialized in front of him.

00000

"That piece of _shit!_ He told Satan! He told him about the bank robbery!" Arrow fumed, clenching his fists and punching the wall so viciously the plaster rippled. Marcus shrieked and jumped, nearly throwing his laptop off his lap. The twitchy man looked even more nervous, lips trembling and left eye blinking uncontrollably. He reached up and adjusted his glasses, which were cracked and crooked. He had used tape to keep them together but it looked like they were ready to break apart at any moment. He began to nervously type on his computer, fingers trembling under the mere pressure of this action.

"He has it out for you, man!" he cried. "Fuck, we've gotta fucking kill him. We have to sneak up on him, rip his spine out of his body and hang him up, watch him _scream_. _SCREAM!_" He shrieked with laughter, tapping his feet on the ground. Arrow paid no attention to him, too caught up in his own passionate wrath.

"He ratted me out – _again! _This is the last time, I swear to you. I won't let that fucking piece of shit get me in trouble again," he grabbed a chair and hurled it across the room. It shattered the window into a million pieces, a few of the shards nicking Vivian's skin. The young girl rolled her eyes in annoyance as blood trickled down her forehead and she wiped it away impatiently, watching as Arrow grabbed a bookshelf and wrenched it down. Books toppled all over the floor, sliding across the floor chaotically.

"It's been nearly three months since he told. Just get over it already. You've been punished, it's done. Move on," she said, obviously bored by the situation. Sitting in the apartment the three of them shared was something she tended to avoid. Vivian barely tolerated her two roommates and to be with them together was too much for her to handle. Whether it was dealing with Arrow's constant mood swings and Marcus' insane, psychotic ranting she felt torn in two and overloaded with information.

She had had to endure months of Arrow's fury as he proceeded to destroy every piece of furniture they owned. The target of his rage was, once again, the son of the Prince of Darkness who had told his father of Arrow's wrongdoings – like the time he had committed a bank robbery and murdered seven people, or the time he had attempted to collect a secret team of people in order to attack Heaven or even the time he had attempted to assassinate Damien himself. Each and every one of the secrets had been spilled to the Ruler of Hell and Arrow had paid dearly. And all through this, Arrow had never gotten his vengeance. Vivian now knew that Arrow was not going to rest until he had completely destroyed the young man. Completely…utterly…fucked his mind over until he was nothing but a wreck. Ruined. Shattered.

She hated to admit that she was slightly excited by the prospect of ruining Damien's life. She had nothing personal against the boy, but it had been a long time since she'd managed to torture someone mentally or physically and she missed feeling the pain of another person.

"I will _not_ get over it," Arrow snarled, but his breathing had slowed and he unclenched his fists, collapsing onto the couch and tracing the scar on his face. His fingerprints had been completely burnt off – purposefully, of course – and with a smooth fingertip he stroked the scar tissue thoughtfully, concentrating on his next move. Arrow was a born strategist, but his expertise lay solely in the physical, not in the emotional. Violence was his choice of action, but it wasn't enough for what he wanted to do. Hurting a boy who could heal

He knew that the way to truly break Damien would be to go for the blond boy – the one in the orange parka. He just didn't know how to do it subtly without causing himself any trouble. "I have to find a way to hurt him, but I can't let Satan know about this. You know how fucking protective he is over the little cocksucker. If he ever finds out that I've stepped over the line again…I'm done for."

"What you have to do, is find a way to get Kenny to leave him of his own will. That would be the most gut-wrenching, heart-breaking thing of all – believe me, I know," Vivian said. She was much more emotional, much more psychological and patient than her two friends. "Leave all of this to me, Arrow, and focus on what's really important. You can't let an insignificant thing like this distract you from what we're about to do."

"She's right! Even if you want to hurt Damien – see him _bleed_. And hear him cry. _CRY! BLEED! FUCK!_" Marcus' whole body jerked with excitement and Vivian stared at him. "We have more important – _BLOOD! BLOOD! BLOOD!" _Vivian winced at the screeching note in his voice.

He was particularly excited today, she noticed. She hated it when he was like this – uncontrollable, twitchy and worst of all, horny for blood. It was a crude way to describe it, but she was pretty sure that Marcus was turned on by the sight of blood. And technology. In some ways, he was even more terrifying than Arrow. He was a psycho, a freaking madman who enjoyed cutting people open slowly, hearing their muffled screams once he had gagged them and tied them down. Arrow was violent, cruel and vicious, but he was quick. He sliced and diced, but Marcus liked to be slow.

"Calm down, you goddamn retard," she snapped. She turned back to Arrow who was glaring at Marcus, irritated by his inability to stay still. "Just…let me handle it, okay Arrow? I promise I won't let you down." She stood up, winked at him slyly and then walked off, zipping up her jumper and adjusting her nametag before she closed the door behind her.

Arrow smirked cruelly once she left, picking up a cigarette and placing it between his chapped lips. He clicked his fingers and lit it with practiced ease. Marcus was shuddering slightly, but the tremors had subsided now that they were no longer talking about Damien. The man adjusted his glasses once more and turned back to his screen. Arrow thought about Vivian and how calm she was compared to his fury and Marcus' nervousness.

"She's a special one. Only thirteen years old and she was sent to Hell already. What a character," he chuckled with a hint of admiration in his voice.

"Why is she even here? What did she do that was so bad? Why is everyone so scared of her? Scared, scared, _scared_," he repeated. Then he shook his head. His tics had been getting steadily worse over the past few months. Maybe it was the added stress of what they were planning, or maybe he'd just been in Hell for too long and now he was losing his mind and becoming insane. At least, more insane than he was when he landed here.

"That girl…that girl is psychologically fucked up. She doesn't do violence. She doesn't like violence, but she does like suffering. She _loves _to watch people suffer and worst of all, she's _patient _about it. That girl, over the course of five years, indirectly murdered fifty-four people without even getting her hands dirty," he said. Marcus' eyes widened with curiosity.

"_How? _Tell me how!"

"Her technique was that she would lure them into her house – usually by pretending that she was lost and vulnerable – then put them to sleep. And she would lock them in a room together, two or three people at a time, and then watch how they interacted with each other as time passed and they were deprived of food and water and the outside world. Sometime by the end they would end up killing and eating each other. Those were her favorites, when she managed to fuck them up mentally beyond all repair. And she'd write it all in this journal. A journal! Can you fucking believe it?" He threw his head back and laughed hysterically.

"That's…that's amazing," Marcus whispered. He was mesmerized by Arrow's story, his mind fantasizing about what he had just been told. Arrow barely noticed this, continuing his account of the life of a psychotic madwoman.

"Her brother found out what she was doing and beat her to death. A pretty sad ending for such a fantastically demented serial killer, don't you think? She doesn't look it, does she?" he motioned to the door, grinning like a wildcat. "On the outside, she looks like an innocent little girl. And I guess, that's what makes her so dangerous. That's what pulled in all those poor, pathetic shit faces. And that's why I wanted her on my team."

"I…think I'm in love with her," Marcus said suddenly, his voice soft as he stared at the door through which Vivian had just left.

"You sick bastard – she's thirteen years old."

"Only in body. And age doesn't matter to me – not after what you've just told me. Now that I know…she's…she's _perfect_," he said, closing his eyes for a second. Arrow knew that once Marcus was like this there was no talking to him. A calm Marcus was not the ideal person to talk to, because once he had drifted off into his own world there was no way to forcefully bring him back.

Arrow put out the cigarette on his arm, listening to the soft sizzling and watching his skin burn under the heat. His forehead was covered in a sheen of sweat but his eyes lighted with pleasure once he removed the cigarette butt. He felt relatively calm all of a sudden, forgetting about his troubles and relaxing on the couch as he suddenly realized that he was going to win.

00000

Damien's legs wobbled underneath the weight of his body. He felt incredibly heavy and tired, as if he hadn't slept for days and his eyelids drooped from the effort of walking to his room. There was nothing more he wanted than to simply collapse in his bed and go to sleep. He was sure, absolutely convinced that he hadn't slept in years. At least, he was under that impression.

Shock vibrated through his body, emptying his mind of all thought except for a single word that floated in his head.

_Sleep_.

He wanted to sleep, and forget about what had just happened. He wanted to forget about what had just transpired after his Dad had materialized. His punishment had been worse than he had ever expected and he had been completely unprepared for the consequences of his actions.

He opened the door to his room, trudging towards his bed, eyes landing on Kenny for a second before he turned away and took off his shirt, focusing solely on the thought of escaping this nightmare. He heard Kenny stand up and run towards him. He felt thin arms encircling his torso and for a moment he was in pure ecstasy at Kenny's closeness.

"Thank you. Thank you so much," Kenny mumbled against his back. Damien shivered with pleasure as he felt Kenny's lips brush against his skin. "You don't know…how much this means to me. I don't know if I can ever repay you for what you did." Damien turned around, wrapping his arms around Kenny as tightly as possible, squeezing his eyes shut and biting his bottom lip as he attempted to hold back tears of anger and hurt. "Damien? What's wrong? What did he do to you? Did he hit you?" The worry in Kenny's voice was palpable.

Damien laughed bitterly. "I wish! I wish he had hit me…" He breathed in the scent of Kenny's hair, losing himself in a different world. He couldn't stop himself from showing this affection towards the other, he couldn't hold himself back anymore.

"What do you mean? Please tell me, you're scaring me!" Kenny had never seen him like this. Of course he hadn't; nothing this serious had ever happened before.

"He did worse…I never really…expected him to go this far…fuck, Kenny, I can't…I just can't…" His voice was muffled by Kenny's hair and he closed his eyes. "He stripped me of my title, Kenny. He fucking, _fucking _took away my future."

"He _what?_" Kenny cried, pushing Damien away to gape at him. "What does that…mean?" His eyes were confused and saddened, but it was simply a reflection of Damien's reaction. Damien could see that he didn't really understand the true implications of this punishment, he was just noting the misery that his friend was going through.

"It _means _that once my Dad chooses to retire…I won't be the next to ascend the throne. He won't allow me to become the official Ruler of Hell. This is bad, oh shit it's so bad," he groaned, gripping Kenny's shoulder tightly.

"Do you…really _want _to be the Prince of Darkness? Why can't you just stay like this forever?" Kenny asked, slightly puzzled. He didn't understand the appeal of Satan's job. From what he saw, Damien wasn't the type of person to really enjoy torturing souls like his father did. He was a rebel, he could be an asshole but ultimately he wasn't wicked inside. Not like his father, who was a malevolent son-of-a-bitch.

"You don't _get it_, Kenny. Once my Dad appoints a new ruler to Hell, I'll be fucking cast out. Exiled. Worse, if the new Ruler perceives me as a threat, he might sentence me to eternal torture, entrapment and pain. You'll be exiled for sure, maybe you'll even be tortured along with me. You don't know what torture is like, Kenny, you don't understand how fucking serious this is!" Damien cried, his voice straining from the terror as he watched Kenny's eyes widened with fear.

"T-torture? I…don't want to be tortured," he whispered, lower lip shaking. Damien sneered, pushing him to the side.

"Of course you don't! No one wants to be fucking tortured!" he said scornfully. He turned to see Kenny's reaction – the boy hadn't moved. The orange parka seemed to grow duller as the fires of Hell dimmed outside. It was almost as if the Underworld was sympathetic to his plight. Kenny hunched, growing smaller as Damien watched and suddenly there was a terrified stillness between them. It seemed like an eternity before Kenny's slight voice pierced the thick silence.

"Is…is there any way to fix this? Is there any other way to become the Ruler?"

"Yeah, there is. But I'd never resort to it, because it's dangerous and risky and might have even worse consequences," he heaved a sigh, running his fingers through his hair. He needed a shower, badly. "So in other words…this is my destiny. My freedom will last until my Dad decides to step down from the throne and then…then I'm screwed. Then I'm in for a world of agony." He began to shake, suddenly unsure of everything. Panic forced him to sit down on his bed. His head felt so heavy. He couldn't deal with this anymore, he couldn't deal with the prospect of what he would have to face in the possibly near future.

But even worse, what _Kenny _would have to face. If the new Prince was cruel, then he would target anyone Damien was close to. And considering the next Prince would be the ruler of evil, there was a chance that Kenny would be imprisoned just for the hell of it. Damien thought of the tortured souls sitting in their prisons, just waiting for the next round of pure agony to strike. Damien thought of the numerous torture devices, based upon the creations of mankind used for the interrogation of prisoners, the torture of witches and prisoners of war. He couldn't imagine Kenny being subjected to something like that. He refused to think about it, but the thought nagged at his mind.

He never wanted Kenny to hurt, _never_.

"Oh God, what's going to happen to us?" Kenny whimpered. His mind was focused on the hundreds of methods of torture he would have to go through. The hair on the back of his neck rose and he pressed his fist against his mouth to stop himself from gasping for breath.

"Don't think about it," Damien said shortly. Kenny whirled around furiously.

"How can I not think about it?" He snarled. "This is all _my _fault!"

Damien stopped, completely stunned by this outburst. His mouth opened and closed without a single word escaping his lips. Of all things, he never expected Kenny to say that. He couldn't even fathom how he had reached such a conclusion. His hands gripped the dark bed sheets tightly and he glowered.

"If I hadn't asked you to save Craig, then you never would have gotten in trouble!"

"Don't be such an idiot! I had to save Craig, I couldn't let him die!" At this point he had jumped forward, standing in an aggressive stance as he tried to defend his actions. He didn't _want _Kenny to feel bad for him. He didn't want Kenny to label him as a martyr when he had only done it to benefit himself. There was no way he would ever consider taking back his actions, but he refused to be a saint for a purely selfish action.

"But why?"

"Because I…" he stopped himself in time, almost laughing as he realized what he had nearly revealed. "Never mind. Just…never mind." Kenny shoved Damien, gritting his teeth. He suddenly felt insanely furious, emotions completely jumbled up and unable to verbalize what he was thinking. He spluttered, panting for breath, chest heaving. He wouldn't just accept it.

"No! You can't just _do _that! You have to explain to me! _WHY?_" he yelled. Damien just shook his head awkwardly, tightening his lips. Kenny shoved him again, harder this time. Damien's eyes darkened but he ignored it. "You have to tell me why you saved him! I can't just accept it like that, not now when I trust you! Not now when we're friends! You saved him for me, but why was it so important to you that you'd risk such a punishment?" There was still no answer. "You're never going to tell me are you?" Damien's expression didn't change. It was a clear sign that he wasn't ready to talk now, if ever.

The sensations burst within him so suddenly that he wasn't even prepared as his eyes fixated on Damien's pale face. Suddenly he was noticing every detail about him that he'd never noticed before. He noticed the curve of his lips, the way his eyes became black when he was angry and how his jaw would clench when he tried to control himself. All of these features suddenly seemed unbelievably attractive to him and all of his anger seemed to be wiped away in a single second. Everything, the shape of his body, the arch of his back, the swell of his muscles, that he had taken for granted before suddenly became pronounced to him.

Kenny stared at Damien, realizing that he didn't need to know why he had helped him. He didn't even care why. All he knew was that suddenly his body felt like it was on fire, _alive_ with wonder and pleasure and suddenly all he wanted to do, all he _needed _to do was just close the distance between them and then and then –

"It's none of your-"

"Oh _shut up_," Kenny interrupted, then he strode forward and planted his lips directly onto Damien's. The other boy was too shocked to respond as Kenny reached up, pressing his body against the ex-heir to the throne and running his fingers through his thick black hair.

Kenny was in ecstasy, moving his lips against Damien's and nearly burst with happiness when he felt a response, Damien's arms wrapping around him and lips pressing against his desperately, passionately. For a moment they blended together wonderfully, perfectly synchronized in every movement and everything was forgotten except each other. Kenny moaned into the kiss and Damien clutched onto him more firmly. But the kiss was short-lived.

Something clicked in Kenny's mind and he stopped, pushing Damien away reluctantly. The taller boy dropped his arms to his sides, staring at Kenny in complete astonishment, transfixed by what had just happened. Neither of them were brave enough to move until finally Kenny backed away, putting his arms up defensively.

"I'm sorry, so, so sorry. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that, I'm sorry," he repeated, then spun around and left. Damien heard the door slam, but his eyes were locked onto the floor. Once he finally seemed to land on solid ground, once his mind managed to right itself, once the world seemed to make sense again…

He felt himself smile delightfully, a wondrous grin crossing his face. Kenny might not have reacted well to the suddenness of the kiss, but that didn't bother Damien, because now at least there was a tiny ray of hope for him in the universe. And he felt that, after everything he'd been through, maybe he deserved it a little bit.


	9. Three Month Anniversary

**Disclaimers: **I don't own the South Park characters, despite my constant prayers. I _do _own Adam, Square Jaw, Vivian, Arrow, Marcus, Square Jaw, Snakebites and the drug Valexium.

**Notes: **Yay, another chapter! I have exams in four days, so I should really be studying. Bu-ut laziness kicked in and I decided this was more fun. Thanks to everyone for reviewing, they were really great! I think this has become my ultimate favorite story to write ever! And I'm almost at the double digits! I'm not exactly sure, but I think this is the most I've ever written for a single story. I'm so in love with this pairing right now…though that doesn't guarantee them a happy ending. I guess we'll just have to wait and see!

Chapter Nine

Three Month Anniversary

Kenny acted like nothing had happened. There was no change in his manner, no wavering tone in his voice, no strain in his actions. In other words, according to him nothing had occurred between them. He absolutely refused to make any changes, especially if they caused complications. He preferred to ignore everything that had transpired.

He didn't understand why he was reacting so badly. He had never had trouble with relationships before he had died, and nothing seemed to change after his death. All that was different was the fact that when Damien looked at him, he felt something completely unfamiliar inside. He felt a desperate need for Damien to be around him, to touch him, to just freaking look at him! And it terrified him.

It terrified him how a simple smile could make him tingle uncontrollably, or the tiniest amount of contact made him giddy with pleasure. He _hated _feeling like this, because he knew what it was. Stan had described it before in great detail. This was _love_. A few hours after the incident he left the mansion without saying anything and walked down to one of the nicer bars he knew.

"Jack Daniels," he ordered roughly, grimacing as the bartender – a handsome human/demon hybrid with a dark complexion, sharp green eyes and the occasionally hard fish scale over his skin– took out a glass and began to pour the foul liquid. Kenny raised a hand to stop him, eliciting a confused glance. "No glass. Bottle. I want it straight." He hadn't even begun drinking and he was already unable to string together a good sentence. How pathetic. He wanted to curl up in a bath of self-loathing and just die there. This thought made him even more depressed. The bartender handing him the Jack Daniels was rock bottom and he nearly snatched it out of his grasp.

He swung his bottle up, drank heavily and then slammed the bottle onto the counter. The hideous burning in his throat woke him up and before the alcohol could even take effect he began to feel giddy.

Swing, drink, _slam_.

Swing, drink, _slam_.

Swing, drink, _slam_.

Unlike the last hundred times he and Damien had been out, he found that this time was much less enjoyable. The giddy feeling was only making him more depressed and he found himself missing the dark and warm presence of the other boy. Going out was no fun when it was by himself. He wanted someone to high-five him when he downed a shot, to introduce him to all the bartenders and interesting people around the bar, to play drunken Connect Four until they couldn't even remember whose color was whose and run wildly down the streets singing Hell's Anthem.

The bar was slightly less crowded than usual, or maybe it was simply because nobody was interacting. Everyone seemed to be subdued today, a few people scattered on the counter while others sat in groups, drinking or shooting up Valexium, a drug similar to heroin except a hundred times more addictive and, according to Damien, sent massive explosions of drugged up pleasure through the body, caused vivid hallucinations and made the user temporarily feel like they were experiencing every possible physical and mental pleasure that existed.

But Damien, who knew from a short period of his life, had told him that the come down was more excruciating than anything he'd ever been exposed to and once his father had forced him through withdrawal he refused to allow himself or Kenny to try. The poor boy had often been tempted but Damien was always there to stop him.

Speaking of that…Damien wasn't here right now to stop him. He was probably too busy packing up Kenny's things and throwing them outside the house. He was probably thinking about what fucking homo Kenny was and how he never wanted to see him again. Kenny buried his head in his hands. He'd never felt this way before, never cared about people other than his friends hating him.

Damien would probably hate him, or kick him out of the house, disgusted by the fact that his first best friend had practically sexually assaulted him. Then again, he hadn't pushed him away, screamed at him or god forbid _punched _him. Kenny suddenly realized that Damien hadn't in fact reacted much at all. He had been lost in his own world, but now he wondered why he hadn't been pushed away. Damien had not hurt him. Maybe he had even…responded to it?

"No!" Kenny yelled suddenly, startling the bartender. The man shot him a wary look and eyed the half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels. Kenny shrunk with humiliation and cleared his throat apologetically. The bartender sighed, pulled up a chair and sat in front of Kenny, taking out a packet of cigarettes. Kenny recognized the half-demon from about a week ago, when he and Damien had spent a few nights in this bar. This was one of the nicer bartenders who didn't allow any torture in his bar and kept out the living corpses.

"Okay, tell me what's wrong," he said firmly, patting the counter. "Is it about Damien? What am I saying, of course it's about Damien." He chuckled, shaking his head. Kenny stared at him in disbelief, eyes wide and confused. Already the alcohol was taking effect – his eyes had become glassy and his lips were parted slightly. He moved sluggishly to grasp the bottle but he was stopped. "Take it easy, kid. Just tell me what happened. And no more drinking until you've finished."

Kenny nodded blearily, crossing his arms in front of him and feeling a slight chill. "What's your name?"

"It's Adam. And you're Kenny right?" A nod was his response. "So tell me, Kenny, why so frustrated? Is it because of something Damien did?" Kenny blushed a tinge of pink on his cheeks.

"It's because of something _I _did. And now…I don't know what Damien's _going _to do because of that," he said, trying to make sense of what happened. "I kissed him. I _kissed _him. I just walked right up to him and assaulted his mouth, and he probably thinks I was trying to get with him. But I _wasn't_! I swear I didn't know what I was doing. And I stopped the moment I realized and the look he gave me – God, I've never seen anyone so surprised – and now I think he probably hates me. Or he's burning everything I've ever come in contact with and packing up my bags and-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa slow down, kid!" Adam cried, putting his hands up to motion for Kenny to stop. A loud clatter was heard as one of the druggies fell off his chair, bringing down his friends with him. They shrieked, eyes bulging and hands waving frantically before giving way to laughter. The others were too busy basking in the effects to take notice. Adam shot them a glare but said nothing, turning back to Kenny who was rubbing his cheeks and eyeing the bottle of alcohol. "Look, you have to take it slow. Don't panic; Damien's a good kid. He's not going to throw you out because you made a move on him. I don't think he's mad about it at all."

"You…don't?"

"Have you _seen _the way Damien looks at you? Or the way he lights up when you pay attention to him, or how he never sees any of the pretty girls flirting with him, or how he got insanely jealous the time you ended up talking to that redhead all night long?" Kenny was frowning as Adam spoke, listening intently to everything he was saying. Blurred memories were brought forth slowly and he attempted to process what he was being told.

"What, Meredith? That was nothing between us. I talked to her about my friends, and she told me about her family. What's wrong with that?" he mumbled.

"Nothing. There's absolutely nothing wrong with that," Adam said. He began to clean the shot glasses, setting two directly in front of the already tipsy boy. He poured Smirnoff vodka into the glasses and offered one to Kenny. "But he was glaring at her the whole night and didn't even cheer up when she left. Why do you think that is?" He took the shot and downed it.

Kenny shook his head, grumbling under his breath. "Oh I dunno, maybe he doesn't like her?"

"_Wrong!_"

Kenny jumped, yelping softly as Adam slammed the glass onto the counter so hard the wood vibrated. He stared in shock, then grabbed his shot and drank it, needing something to stop the shaking. The shock subsided and he narrowed his eyes as Adam chuckled to himself.

"Oh, Kenny, you're so blind," he said. "I'm not going to dance around the subject, make you guess what I'm implying. I'm just going to give it to you straight. Damien _likes _you, okay?" He was met by a short silence. Kenny was focused on his shot glass, tipping it over and turning it around.

"Yeah, right."

"Damien _likes _you. He fucking _loves _you, and you're too much in denial to see that. He's not going to kick you out, because you kissing him was probably the best thing that's ever happened to him," he spoke, his voice slow and clear as Kenny looked like he was beyond listening now. He glanced at the half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels and grimaced. "You're not listening to me are you?"

"I am, I am. But I just can't…I'm gonna think about this tomorrow. I'm too tired and the brain's all fuzzy right now," Kenny moaned, rubbing his eyes. Adam rolled his eyes in amusement and annoyance.

One of the alcoholics jumped onto the table and began to dance, ripping his shirt off as the others cheered. As he twirled around Kenny caught a glimpse of his back which was splattered with numerous scars, some which looked freshly healed while other were so old they were nothing more than angry white lines. He recognized them as whip marks, some traveling to below his back, disappearing at the line of his pants and interrupted by burns on his skin. Kenny's eyes widened in horror and his breath caught in his throat. Adam glanced at him, taking note of his horrified expression.

"That one got off pretty easy. He must have been a small-time sinner," he observed. Kenny's head snapped around so quickly Adam was surprised his neck didn't break from the sudden movement.

"That's 'getting of easy'? Are you serious? What happens to the ones who committed really bad crimes? Huh?" he asked, his voice wavering. Adam stared at him, eyes trained on his uncontrolled expression.

"Believe me, kid, you don't want to know."

"No I…I really do," he pushed. Suddenly his head was filled with images of himself being tortured, screaming and writhing in pain as the shadowy demons stood over him, taunting him, shrieking with terrifying laughter. His grip tightened around the bottle and he downed a little bit more, preparing himself for what he was about to be told.

"Have you ever seen those…ancient torture devices that they used in the Middle Ages? Have you ever seen those pictures of the old, really sick machines that they used to torture the people such as witches or slaves?" Adam said slowly. Kenny nodded, fear trickling down his spine. He'd seen pictures of those devices on the internet, usually just being grossed out with his friends when they scrolled down the page and feeling immense pity for the people who had to experience such agony. And now…and now...he didn't even want to think about it. "If you think you've experienced pain, you're in for a shock. Humans aren't cruel, humans aren't barbaric. They only seem that way until you face your first Torturer. Then all the evil in the world seems like the games that children play."

And after this ominous statement Kenny felt himself plummet into an alcohol induced haze. Suddenly this seemed too much for him to handle and he allowed himself to slip away gently. Everything Adam said no longer carried any weight and the bartender seemed to sense this. He changed the subject, keeping his eye on the other groups.

"So you like it here in Hell?" he asked, preparing a mojito for the man at the other end of the bar. Kenny tilted his head, narrowing his eyes in an attempt to focus on the object in front of him. He pouted when the bottle duplicated and suddenly there were two Jack Daniels on the counter.

"Uhhhh, 's fun I guess. I like being with Damien 'n yeah, doin' fun shtuff but…miss muh frendshh n' family," he slurred tiredly. "Bu' if he weren't here I'd be totally bummed out, bummed out. But now I dunno whuuurt I'd do without him."

"How'd you react when you first died? Damien mentioned something about you being in total isolation for a few months."

"Mmm. I was pretty fucked uhhh…played games n' shtuff…got some high scooores and read shome o' the books…kept busy yeah?" Kenny mumbled, almost to himself. He rubbed his temples, no longer in the mood to talk. Adam's words were stringing together to make no sense. The bartender sighed in amusement, taking bottle of Jack Daniels and placing it on the shelf.

The shelf was stocked with rows and rows of alcohol, some of them Earthly brands and others that Kenny had never even seen before. As he examined them his eyes lighted up with interest and the unfamiliar brands. He told himself that next time he was here he would experiment with some different types of alcohols.

"I remember when I died. I left behind a wife and four kids as well as friends I had known for fifteen years. I sank into a depression for the longest time, walking around like a zombie and after about a year I was being harassed by these asswipes and I _exploded_," he said, gesturing emphatically. Kenny stared up at him, curiosity peaked. "I beat the shit out of them. I was merciless, crazy and I pummeled them until their faces were unrecognizable and they couldn't even stand up. Nothing mattered except for hurting them,"

"Then what?"

"Then I was offered a job. When I left the park I was completely high on my victory and once I finally settled down I was approached by a young man in a suit. He gave me a card and offered me a job. He told me that he wasn't forcing this upon me, he just wanted me to know that if I was interested in the job I should contact him. I turned over the card and read the title."

"Whoaaaa…whuzzit say?"

"Torturer. The job was a Torturer. The man who approached me was a scout who searched for men willing to torture souls. The job was attractive, I must admit, because of the high pay and the benefits. So I took it. I spent twelve years inflicting hideous torture upon unwilling victims and fell asleep at night hearing their screams in my mind." He poured himself another shot and downed it.

"Wow…"

"I quit, of course, once I had enough to buy my own bar. But the demon skin, a side effect of the job, has never faded. I was just lucky enough to notice it before I fully turned. Most people don't even realize that they're turning. But I quit and opened _Gate_. It's fun; it's what I did when I was alive and it's great pay," he admitted, chucking to himself as if hearing an inside joke.

"Pay? You guys use money?" Kenny interrupted, frowning at this sudden revelation, interested peaked. He was burning with questions about the Torturer job, but that could wait. At the moment, he suddenly realized that he had never paid for his drinks. Damien had always paid for them, insistent when Kenny whined that he felt bad for letting him spend so much on him. When he had wanted to pay for himself he had come to the realization that he didn't have any money. Damien had laughed and secretively implied that they didn't use cash to pay. He refused to say anymore and told Kenny to just put it on his tab any time he wanted a drink. "Oh yeah, I havta pay fo' this. Umm, I don't have any cash buuu' I can…pay you later?" He blushed slightly. He didn't feel comfortable making Damien pay when the boy wasn't even here drinking with him.

"Money's useless here, and anyway, everything you buy automatically goes onto Damien's tab 'cause you're his friend."

Kenny winced. It was that association with Damien that was going to get him in a shit load of pain. Perhaps if he cut off all ties now he could save himself in the future…

He shook his eyes, feeling disgusted with himself. He gripped his arms so tight pain shot through his body, hating himself for thinking such a thing. If he had never asked to see The List, Damien would never have wiped Craig's name off _just _for him and he wouldn't have been denied the right to ascend the throne. In other words, Kenny was being a selfish little bastard for even _considering _letting Damien take all the heat.

Speaking of that, he wished Damien were sitting with him. The presence of the older boy made him feel safe and content, like his best friends used to. _I wonder where he is, _he thought vaguely. He had walked out a few hours after the kiss without saying anything or looking back.

"How do peeps pay fer shtu-things w'out money?" Kenny mumbled. His speech was deteriorating yet his concentration remained focused as he mentally forced himself to remember this.

"People pay with souls. When you land in Hell, the only thing you really have is your soul and it's the only valuable currency around here. The richest people are the ones who own the highest number of souls. Satan owns billions of them, whereas the people in his army are paid 300,000 souls a year."

Kenny stared at his dumbly, his intoxicated mind unable to comprehend what he was being told. "Souls…as in…uhh…souls?"

"Yes, people's souls. Whenever you buy a beer you are, in essence, selling me a percentage of someone's soul that you own, whether it's your own or someone else who belongs to you. For example, whenever Damien buys a beer he pays me three percent of one of his souls until I own the person. Then I own them and I make them work for me or begin using them as currency to buy other things. Everyone who arrives at Hell's Gates is, in effect, nothing but the equivalent of money," Adam explained. Somehow Kenny managed to process what he was saying.

"But…how do you…ye' know….get free?"

"You work for someone. You get a salary, and when you have ten thousand souls you can exchange them for your own freedom. You have to go to one of Satan's Slave Traders and pay them the souls. Then you can no longer be used as currency or sold unwillingly. You see that gorgeous barmaid over there?" he asked, pointing at her. Kenny glanced around to see Jillian, the beautiful brunette that had attracted him to this counter when he'd first arrived here, intent on catching her attention. "She has the ten thousand souls but if she paid for her freedom she'd have nothing to pay for rent, food, thirst and I've promised her that I won't sell her anyway."

He winked at Jillian, who rolled her eyes, but her mouth twitched slightly and her cheeks reddened. Kenny noticed that Adam seemed to have that effect on people, despite the fish scales on his arms. He remembered vaguely flirting with Jillian a few nights ago. He also remembered Damien shooting Jillian warning glances whenever she approached.

Adam was still talking and Kenny quickly snapped himself back into reality as much as he possibly could. He tried to force himself to remember this. It was almost painful to try to process all of this information. His fingers tapped mercilessly against the wood of the counter and he shook his head once again. He didn't like how certain things were different in Hell. It was too confusing for him to understand and instead he simply mumbled: "Never mind, just…put…yeah…on Damien's tab."

A fight broke out in one of the groups. The druggies turned to stare at the fight and the clients began to catcall and whistle. The two fighters were undeniably wasted, one man brandishing a broken bottle and the other lifting a chair, a grotesque sneer on his half-burned face. Kenny shuddered as he took note of the number of injuries on their faces and their arms. One man had a massive cluster of cigarette burns on the back of his neck, still infected and festering horrifically. Kenny whined, unable to tear his eyes away from the sight of the horrific burns. He waved the bottle madly, holding it firmly between the remaining thumb and two fingers he possessed. The blond began to feel insanely nauseous as he suddenly came to the realization that in Hell, you weren't immune to pain and hurt. Just because you couldn't die didn't mean that you were above mutilation and torture or suffering.

Adam left Kenny sitting on the stool, watching dumbly as the bartender hopped over the counter and moved to break up the fight, rolling up his sleeves smoothly to reveal muscular arms covered in numerous green fish scales – the evidence of his previous occupation. He slid off the stool clumsily, suddenly firm in his decision. He knew what he had to do in order to forget his upcoming fate, forget either Damien's apparent love for him or his current disgust for him and forget that he was in Hell at the moment. He sought the only release that would temporarily free him from any suffering he felt.

He wanted the drugs.

His feet led him automatically towards the small group of drugged up men in the corner, all hesitation lost in the swirl of determination. His eyes locked onto the group and he approached the only two men who seemed to still be grounded in reality. The one closest to him was muscular and tanned with a distinctively square shaped jaw. The other one had snakebites on his lip and he was the one who noticed Kenny first. His lips pulled up in a grin and he stood up, approaching the drunken boy.

"Hey kid, you want to shoot up?" he offered. Kenny nodded blearily, collapsing onto one of the seats. As he sat down he glanced up and happened to catch sight of Adam, who looked like he wanted to go stop him. He shook his head subtly and the kindly bartender backed away, looking disapproving and slightly anxious. It was obvious he didn't want to allow this, but he didn't want to stop Kenny if he was determined.

Damien had threatened all the bartenders, implying that if any of them did anything to displease Kenny he would find out about it and take care of the problem. Kenny had seen even the most hardened men pale at the threat and at this moment he was grateful that Adam had stepped down. He needed this, needed some sort of release from the immense pressure of being recently dead, of having fucked up the only true friendship he really had here in this desolate, flaming, corpse-ridden place.

"So…this is…Valexium?" he asked. Square Jaw turned to face him, quickly examining his slim body, covered by the dirty orange hoodie that he had refused to discard upon arriving. "Got anything less uh…addictive?"

"Nope, sorry kid. This drug is all you need for the best experience of your un-life. Once you have this, nothing will ever be as good again," Snakebites chuckled, his voice rough from decades of smoking. He looked at the other men, sprawled on the couches and mumbling to themselves. The looks on their faces were ones of pure pleasure and completely shut off from reality. Ashamedly, Kenny realized that this was what he was searching for.

The table was littered with syringes, most of them empty but some of them were still full of the precious liquid. It glinted green under the lights of the bar and he felt slightly mesmerized, gesturing towards the men. Square Jaw picked up one of the syringes, the silver liquid shimmering inside and placed it in Kenny's hand. He smirked encouragingly. "You know how to use it, kid?" Kenny shook his head numbly. He didn't want to do this by himself the first time.

His hand was feeling warm and tense where the syringe was sitting and he felt a slight tinge of regret as he closed his eyes and imagined Damien's furious expression. He could almost hear Damien's voice telling him to stop what he was doing and for a second his grip on the syringe loosened. "Tell you what. Because you're a newbie, I'll give you this one free. But you have to remember, _I'm _your dealer, okay? Next time you want some, you come to me. We got a deal?"

Kenny lifted his finger up to prick the edge of the needle. He made a motion, crossing his heart in a childish manner that seemed to be good enough for the older man.

"All you've got to do is inject it into this vein here," Snakebites said, pulling back Kenny's sleeve. Kenny stared down at the needle blearily, watching as Snakebites pushed the thin metal into his skin, his calloused thumb ready to inject the poisonously addictive liquid into his bloodstream.

He felt strangely relaxed as he accepted what was about to happen. His mind was floating beyond his consciousness and he felt distant from what was happening, disconnected almost. Even before he took the drug he felt himself preparing for the immense pleasure that it was going to bring him.

"All right, I'm ready. Do it," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He watched as Square Jaw leered at him, then nodded towards Snakebites. The man held his wrist down onto the table firmly, giving him no chance to struggle against his grip. Kenny felt slightly uncomfortable and within a millisecond his mind cleared, the influence of alcohol disappeared and he realized what was about to happen. But it was too late, he was trapped and all he could do was watch as he made the stupidest decision of his un-life.

"_NO!_"

A scream tore out from the darkness, a pale white hand batting away the syringe desperately and a figure throwing itself against Snake Bites. All Kenny could see was a flurry of color before he was dragged roughly away from the others, pulled unwillingly towards the back door where his assailant threw him into the alley. He tripped and whirled in mind-air, falling back against the wall and feeling his breath escape him for a few, dizzying seconds.

"What the _fuck_! You just cost me a client!" The screech of Square Jaw's voice grated on his ears and he closed his eyes, wishing that he could just fall asleep. The two men had obviously followed him outside, outraged by the interruption. Kenny looked down at the tiny dot where the syringe had been inserted. He had come so close to attaching himself to a sick drug and was only saved by some random outburst of anger from someone he didn't even recognize. The voice of the man sounded familiar once he spoke:

"Don't you fucking come near him again, Desmond. You know what I can do to you if you piss me off. You and your bitches ever even _look _at him funny, I swear to God I will fucking-"

There was a yelp and a scuffle and as Kenny looked up he saw the two burly men clamber over each other in order to get back into the bar. The figure standing in front of him was his assailant/savior and he opened his mouth to say something. He wasn't sure if he should scream at him, thank him or simply ignored him. Then the figure turned around to face him.

The effects of the Jack Daniels faded in one vicious second and he was left feeling cold inside, blank from the shock. He tried to speak but only a few strangled gasps escaped his throat.

He found himself face to face with the last person he'd ever expected to see, someone that had almost completely escaped his mind during his time on Earth and Hell. He placed a trembling hand on the dumpster next to him, tears building in the corners of his eyes. The figure, slightly taller than him but lankier and deathly pale from the years on Earth and Hell of nothing but drugs and alcohol. He was someone who had abused his body to the point of no repair and even now Kenny could see that he had spiraled into a pit of darkness.

What was the worst, though, was that he was _here_. He was in Hell, which meant that he had died along the way without Kenny ever having known about it. He felt nauseous.

"Oh God, oh God no," Kenny mumbled, feeling his head begin to throb. He had drunk too much alcohol, that was for sure.

"Hey, little brother. How are you?"

00000

If there was anything that Vivian enjoyed, it was ripping people apart from the inside out. She found that emotional trauma was one of the most delightful things to witness on a depressing day and so far nothing had managed to counter the suicidal breakdown of her mother after realizing that her own child had manipulated her father's depression and convinced him to kill himself. The methods she had used were so simplistic – a vicious whisper here, and gentle nudge there – and a month later she had found her mother standing over the bloody bathtub, eyes wide with horror.

She had laughed. Perhaps it was an unreasonable reaction, to laugh at the suicide of your own father, but it had been worth it when her mother had followed in his footsteps a week later, devastated by the loss of her husband and the newfound cruelty of her seven-year-old mentally psychotic, genius daughter.

She missed her brother.

"What are you going do? Does it involve blood and guts? _GUTS? GUUUUUTS?" _Marcus spluttered, his hands trembling. He was holding a laptop in his hands, but as Vivian turned to shoot him a glare he shrieked and threw it down, watching as it broke and skidded across the floor. "It's okay_ it's okay! _It's replaceable. But my love for you isn't, I can't love anyone else!" He whirled around, then turned back to her. She stared at him as if he had transformed somehow and took a slight step back.

His tics had progressively transformed into full-blown spastic attacks and now he had begun to tell her how much he loved her and wanted her since yesterday. She was now more worried by his behavior than before, more for her own benefit than his. She didn't want to have to deal with a besotted, blood-hungry Marcus. She was pretty sure that he was the type to kill after mating, or have one of those strange fetishes that she didn't have the time to deal with, considering the task at hand.

"Are you all right? You've been acted like someone slipped you an extra dose of crazy these past few weeks. And could you stop declaring your love for me? I told you, I'm not interested," she said carefully, watching as he shook his head in response to her question.

"I can't stop loving you. I _CAN'T, CAN'T, CAN'T…_feel my heart beat," he gasped, clutching his chest. He gripped his dark hair, tugging it roughly until Vivian snapped at him to stop. He whined, dropping his arms to his sides. She looked at him with a raised eyebrow. Perhaps he could be handsome, if he fixed his glasses and stopped scratching his face until it bled. Unlike him, she didn't really find the concept of bleeding a turn on, but she thought he had nice hair and eyes. "Why are y-you - _staring! _– staring at me?"

She sighed, shaking her head in exasperation.

"I need a way to ruin their relationship. And that's easy enough, considering what Damien did, but the only problem is exposing the secret. Kenny knows who I am, no doubt. He's met me before, in that downtown Chinese restaurant and Damien warned him against me, so that means I lose all my credibility. And I can't use one of my team because they're going to want to know why; they've known me for too long to know that I don't do things without reason and I know that any of them will talk if it means getting a promotion. The best would be for me to find someone that he can trust who I can manipulate as well."

She thought this over for a few minutes, then sighed and began to walk down the street, followed by a twitching Marcus. As she passed the back alley of _Gate _she did a double take, then grabbed Marcus and hauled him behind the corner. He squeaked as she flattened him against the wall, silencing him with a death grip on his collar.

The two boys were standing in the alley, one of them with his voice raised and the other in a calm yet quivering voice. Vivian immediately recognized the blond one. Marcus tried to say something but she waved for him to shut up.

She pressed her back against the wall, eyes focused intensely upon the two of them. Her lips curved into a vicious smile as she watched Kenny speaking to a boy she vaguely recognized as one of the most notorious of all the drug lords, someone who had only died a few years ago and already knew all the workings of this miserable shit hole. She knew him by reputation, but not personally.

She watched as Kenny began to gesture, raising his voice and she distinctly heard the words "…walked out on your own family! Do you know how devastated Mom and Dad were? And Katie, she wouldn't stop fucking crying! Some example you set for her; she got knocked up and ran out instead of telling us! We had to find out from her boyfriend's _parents!_ You son of a…"

"Well, that is just _divine_," she whispered. Her face was illuminated by the streetlight and the dark fires, giving her skin a reddish glow that somehow twisted her lovely features. Her gaze was fixed on Kevin, who had slumped down in exhaustion, lips pulled down in a grimace. She felt a thrilling shudder run down her spine and realized just how much of an advantage this gave her. _This _was someone who would help her without questioning her motives, just because he cared for his brother. This is what she'd been looking for.

"_STAB! STAB! BANG!" _Marcus shrieked suddenly, jolting her out of her reverie and slamming her back down into reality. She shot him a sickeningly terrifying glare and he cowered in fear. She was relieved to see that the two boys hadn't even noticed the interruption.

"Let's go," she ordered, walking away and listening to Marcus' hesitant footsteps behind her. She crossed the road, kicking aside the sleeping drunkards and the 'living' corpses as she walked. The voices of the two boys faded eventually and once they were out of earshot she sighed, scratching her chin. "This is good. This is wonderful."

Marcus stopped behind her. "I-It is-"

_CRACK!_

The force behind the blow sent the man reeling, falling back onto his rear and gasping for breath. His eyes were wide with shock and his cheek was already turning a deep red. The force behind the backhand was incredible for a young girl. He felt like his face had been smashed by a baseball bat and for a second his vision went completely black at the edges.

Stunned, he simply stared at the young girl until the echo of the slap died down and the only thing that could be heard was his harsh, edgy breathing. Vivian's face was dark with disgust as she looked down at him, the way a man would look down at a cockroach.

"Don't you ever…_ever_ give me reason to do that again. I _hate_ being violent," she snarled. "But only an idiot would give away our position like that, and if I must I'll destroy you."

His eyes were shining with pure admiration, one of them closing slightly as his cheek began to swell. He scrambled after her, trying to be as close to her as possible but she snapped at him to stay away.

In her mind, Vivian felt satisfied. This new revelation meant that she had to take very little part in what was about to happen. Then once she set the motion in her plan, everything else would fall into place and Arrow would be free to concentrate on what really mattered.

00000

Kenny watched as the man who had been his brother refused to look him in the eye. He had screamed for a bit, then once his voice had faded he found that he was too exhausted to continue. Kevin had said little to defend himself against the tirade, watching as Kenny listed the reasons why he was a selfish bastard and blamed everything going wrong on him. His accusations weren't completely unfounded; Kevin's departure had begun a pattern of bad happenings in their family, the main one being Katie's pregnancy and departure.

At the moment, though, he had run out of steam and realized that he didn't have much more to say. He was too curious about when Kevin had died, and why. And he was angry about it too, because he guessed that Kevin had deliberately caused his own death, whether indirectly or directly he wasn't sure.

"So that's it, isn't it?" he said bitterly. "You're not going to defend yourself? Explain why you just left and never came back, never wrote a letter, never contacted us. You're not going to tell me why you stole Dad's money and took off in the middle of the night?"

Kevin sighed, running a hand through his hair. His eyes were dark, with bags under them and his face had grown even paler than it used to be. His sleeves were rolled up and Kenny could see the telltale bruises on his arms. It didn't take a genius to know that even in Hell his brother was still immersed in a world of sex, drugs, alcohol and fighting. It was the kind of person he didn't want to end up – coming home at three in the morning drugged up to the eyeballs and carrying empty bottles of vodka, or returning with blood on his hands from some guy he'd had a knife fight with over a street whore. Kenny drank, yes, but he refused to do any more than just that.

"I see you're still doing drugs."

"Look who's talking," Kevin retorted calmly. Kenny blushed as he remembered what Kevin had just saved him from. Now he felt ashamed that he'd almost succumbed to such an idiotic temptation, especially since Damien had always been there to tell him not to allow himself to get addicted. "You don't know what you almost got yourself into. I just saved your sorry ass. You've always been one for getting into idiotic situations."

"Fuck you. You don't know me. You left me years ago, and you never bothered to stay in contact, so don't you dare talk to me with that fucking voice," he snarled. "How did you die? Was it a knife fight? Drunk driving?"

"I OD'd on heroin about a week after I left," was his reply. Kenny felt his legs almost collapse under him.

A _week?_ His brother had been dead for years and he hadn't even known about it until now. _Of course the bastard hasn't kept in contact, he's been dead for Christ's sake_, he thought to himself. He shook with sadness and found himself torn between crying and screaming. He wanted to beat the shit out of him for dying in such a stupid way, but at the same time he felt completely grateful that Kevin hadn't been distant because he had wanted to be but only because he'd had no choice.

As this realization dawned on him, a great sense of relief accompanied it. Somehow being abandoned by choice was so much more painful than this.

"What about Katie? Do you know if…if she's okay?" he asked softly.

Kevin shrugged, looking strained at the mention of their 'baby' sister. "I just know that she's not here and that's good enough for me. If she had died one of my contacts would have told me."

Kenny felt intensely relieved. His sister's sudden departure had distressed him as much as his brother's and although Kevin's death was a hard blow, at least his sister was okay. He wanted to know what was happening in her life, even wanted to meet his niece or nephew, but she, like Kevin, had disappeared without a word.

"So you came straight here, obviously," he said. It wasn't a question. "How's it been? I haven't heard from you in years. In my head I always envision you just as you were, except sicker, drunker and closer to death." He laughed harshly at his own image. "But I never imagined that you'd have actually gone so far as to OD. Thought you had at least some brain cells."

Kevin ignored the taunt. "I waited in the Line for three weeks; there was a hold-up at the Terminal. Then once I came in I did what I always do – I went for the drugs. I established numerous contacts and before even a year had passed I became the most notorious and dangerous drug lord in the area. I have thirteen hundred men working for me, each with their own contacts and favors to call in and we circulate the most drugs in and out of the city. Valexium, so far, has been our most popular drug because it's so addictive, but we have a few smaller ones available. I'm the only supplier of the drug, so everyone who wants it answers to me."

Kenny gaped at him as he tried to process the information. His brother was a drug lord who supplied a drug a hundred times more addictive than heroin to people in Hell. He had never seen Kevin show any interest in drugs except to use them.

"Fuck, that's creepy," he mumbled. "Why were you in the bar? Did you know I was there?"

"Yes. One of my men told me that they had seen you with Damien and you introduced yourself to someone as Kenny McCormick. Once I was informed I decided to check it out and sure enough, there you were. I've been keeping an eye on you for the past few days, but I only arrived in the bar a few seconds before you were about to shoot up." He stopped, scowling at him with disapproval. "You fucking idiot. Don't you ever think about doing that liquid shit again, you hear me? That's not something you want to get involved in, and I'm alerting all my suppliers to never sell anything to you or anyone you're associated with."

"Don't bother, I'm never trying it again. I was only doing it because I needed to forget," he mumbled, humiliated. He couldn't believe he was getting a lecture about drugs from the one person he'd always used as the bar. Kevin had been the bar that he'd promised himself he would never reach, a level that just went too far. And now his example of the worst role model in the world was scolding him like a child.

"Forget about what?"

"I…I kissed Damien. Today – that's why I walked out," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. He and Kevin had, at some point during the conversation, moved away from the alley and he was unconsciously walking back to Damien's house. His brother stared at him, then chuckled at his embarrassment.

Kevin had never been with guys that much; preferring the company of a 'lady' much more than his younger brother. But that didn't mean Kenny had never seen him come home with a man after a long night of drinking. It just meant that he wouldn't be hearing about the experience afterwards, unlike Kevin's female conquests that he bragged about constantly.

Kenny was the one who was more prone to bringing men home and once in a while the occasional female. But Kevin never knew about that; he had left before Kenny had begun his sexual escapades. But he was still aware of his brother's blatant bisexuality; any fool wouldn't have to look twice to see it.

"Ah, so that's why you were alone. I figured that something had happened, but a kiss…well, I must say I'm just surprised it didn't happen sooner, knowing your track record," he joked. Kenny whacked his shoulder playfully and for a moment it was like when they had been alive, teasing each other about their conquests. "But what's so bad about that? I don't see why this caused you to go out and get all depressed, you fucking emo."

Kenny stared at the ground mournfully as he reached the gate to Damien's house. They stopped and he sensed that Kevin wasn't going to go any further. "Damien's probably going to kick me out now. You should have seen the look on his face after I did that. He was completely shocked, and I don't blame him. I don't have anywhere to _go_."

"You idiot. Damien's not going to kick you out; the guy fucking adores you. Anyone with half a brain could see that." Kevin pulled out a cigarette and lit it. "Then again, you don't fit into that category. Go home. And tell him how you feel." It was a command, not a question, and he turned and began to walk away. Kenny felt a strange sense of terror at the thought of being abandoned again, the thought of his brother walking out once more even if this was a different place, a different time.

"Are you…ever going to come see me again?"

He watched as his brother paused, his body tensed and hesitant. He shrugged lightly. "Maybe. Doubt it. I don't like being reminded of the old life; makes me feel ashamed that I wasted a good thing when I had it. But it was good seeing you, bro. I'm glad you're okay." And then he walked off, disappearing behind the corner and Kenny was left all alone.

But somehow he wasn't bothered. After all, even if Kevin didn't want to see him, Kenny knew how to contact him. Being the number one supplier of drugs in the city didn't make you invisible, just difficult to find. But he knew that if Kevin heard that his little brother was looking for him, he wouldn't just ignore him.

He wondered if Kevin knew that his death was permanent.

Probably. His contacts had most likely informed him that he hadn't returned to Earth recently, and he would assume that Kenny's power of resurrection was no longer active.

He slipped his hood over his head and began to walk up the gentle hill, mind focused on what he would say to Damien when he saw him again.

00000

Yay, that was fun! I hope you liked Adam, he's my sexy little creation.


	10. The Contact

Chapter Ten

The Contact

Kyle wondered if he was completely psychic or if Stan and Wendy's relationship had become so predictable that the exact date when they broke up was obvious to everyone else except them.

They had gone through the same stages as before. They would get together and Stan would be ecstatic, cheerfully relaying every single event his uninterested friends while Wendy and Bebe sat together, often glancing over at the former's current boyfriend. Then after about two weeks Stan would begin to forget his dates or stop talking to Wendy in class. She would immerse herself in school and give excuses not to see him. Then, barely a month after they got together Wendy would break things off and find her rebound guy.

In his pocket, Kyle clenched the money he had won from guessing the exact day Wendy would dump Stan. The other boys had reluctantly handed over the cash – Cartman muttering and cursing the 'stupid Jew' as he did so – and Kyle had triumphantly counted it out before putting it away. He would never tell Stan, but he thought of it as payment for sitting through Stan's constant anecdotes of how Wendy had eaten a whole sundae or how cute she looked in her pajamas or how hot she was when she wore glasses.

"Yeah, that really sucks, man," he said, using one of his vague phrases in order to convince Stan that he was listening. His best friend stopped, glaring at him suspiciously.

"You're not even listening to what I'm saying, are you?" he snapped. He didn't give Kyle time to defend himself before continuing. "Every time I'm talking about Wendy and you're not listening to me you say 'Yeah, that really sucks, man' or 'Mmmhmmm' or 'What a complete bitch' or 'You deserve better'. Don't think I don't notice."

Kyle laughed, realizing that he had underestimated Stan's intelligence and all this time Stan had noticed his detachment to the conversation. "I'm sorry, Stan. It's not that I don't care, it's just that I saw this coming."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, come on. You and Wendy have never been able to go out for that long. I think the longest was when we were eight and you stayed together for about half a year before she dumped you. Ever since then you've been on and off, you've had things that lasted for barely a month but face it, dude, the real relationship is over," he said. Stan looked thoughtful for a second. Then he sighed, depressed as he realized Kyle was right.

They stood in the parking lot of the hospital, watching the people enter and exit the front doors every once in a while. They were waiting for Kyle's mother who was taking Ike to get his shots. She had been driving Stan home as well and they'd stopped by for an hour. Kyle had found himself sitting with Stan in the car until suddenly it had become too stifling to be in such a small area with Stan and he'd insisted on being outside for fresh air.

Stan was still standing too close to him and he felt slightly uncomfortable, looking anywhere but at his friend's eyes. He hated how he suddenly took notice of how his hair was pitch-black, or how his eyes were dark blue that faded to a lighter sky color. Every one of his features seemed to be more pronounced as time passed and now Kyle could barely bring himself to look at his super best friend anymore. The feelings that accompanied his presence weren't unpleasant, but they were unwanted.

"Look, Stan, I have to tell you somethi-"

Stan interrupted him. "Is that Craig? What's he doing here?" Kyle glanced up in time to see Craig exit the hospital, looking disheveled and fatigued. He looked better than he had a few weeks ago and his behavior and hygiene had improved but there were signs that pointed out he was still haunted by what happened. His eyes were slightly sunken and he had grown paler, not to mention thinner which was obvious from the way his clothes hung from his body.

Even so, it was an improvement from before and from his observations, Kyle had noted that the boy was playing outside with his friends more often, spoke louder and best of all, had begun to automatically flip people off when provoked.

"He looks better. Why's he in the hospital?"

"Didn't you know?" Kyle was genuinely surprised that Stan had been completely left in the dark. "Craig's parents forced him to see a therapist after the accident. Apparently Kenny dying and Tweek going into a coma just royally fucked him up and now he has to go twice a week to talk about what happened and all that crap. Still blames himself for what happened. He went a bit mental, but I talked to him yesterday and he said that it's really been helping him and he doesn't feel like complete shit anymore."

"Poor guy. Can't imagine his guilt."

"Yeah. He's had a few near breakdowns but he thinks that he's going to stop seeing the therapist in a few months."

He watched Craig cross the parking lot to where Tweek was standing. The dark-haired boy looked tired but not completely unhappy. Kyle could see that his discomfort stemmed from his forced therapy sessions more than anything else. He guessed that after revealing his guilt about his part in the accident, going straight to Tweek – one of the victims – was not exactly pleasant for his mental state.

But even as he thought this, Craig reached out to pull the shorter boy closer in a playful manner. He kissed Tweek on the forehead and smiled as the younger boy twitched with happiness. They exchanged a few words, Tweek mostly just shrieking or jumping once in a while. Craig took all of this in his stride with a calm patience. Kyle noticed that unlike the others he didn't only tolerate Tweek's tics, he seemed to enjoy them, laughing when Tweek jumped involuntarily or began rambling about some conspiracy. He smiled, watching the couple talking and taking note of how they stood a little closer than before, brush their hands together every once in a while and smiled just a little wider than usual.

"They're cute," Stan said. Kyle was quick to agree and they watched them until Craig's dad drove into the parking lot to pick them up. Then Stan and Kyle were alone again and Kyle's discomfort grew. He watched his super best friend take his wallet out of his pocket and rifle through it until he found the few pictures of him and Wendy together from different stages in their relationship.

The oldest was from when they were eight years old. Kyle's lips twitched as a nauseous looking Stan looked away from the camera as Wendy gave him a kiss on the cheek. The kiss had typically been followed by a projectile vomiting incident that had sent the others boys into hysterics and ended with Wendy storming off in disgust.

Stan sighed before ripping up the photos vehemently. Kyle blinked by the savage action. "Jesus Christ! What the hell are you doing?" He watched as Stan let the photos drop onto the ground before grinding them with the heel of his shoe. He was gritting his teeth together and had an expression of frustration on his face. Kyle felt a pang of sadness mixed with regret. Stan was only just coming to terms that he had ended his almost decade long on-off relationship.

"Getting closure," he snarled, watching as the bits of paper fluttered away. He was panting, as if he had run long distance and Kyle watched as he bent down and picked up the remaining pieces unsurely. He could see Wendy's face peeking out of one and fancied that her expression, despite the broad smile on her face, seemed a little sad. Her eyes were just a little too bright to be real. "This relationship was just wrong the whole time. It's clear to me now. I just wish that I'd figured it out before I wasted so much time chasing her when I could've just…seen what was obvious."

"That you're not meant for each other?"

"Yeah, I guess that too. Things just didn't seem right after a while. My heart was somewhere else," Stan admitted. Kyle felt his heart jump, eyes widening in surprise. Stan seemed to be implying that he had had feelings for someone else during the relationship. His head ran through a list of names frantically and he imagined himself sitting on his bed, phone to his ear while listening to Stan complain about another girl until the sun rose.

Stan walked a few meters away and then dropped the pieces into the trash, brushing his hands off and giving it a look of resignation. Despite the depressing context he seemed quite content once he reached Kyle and offered him a small grin.

"Let's go get a coffee. You can tell your Mom we'll walk back," he said. It wasn't an offer. He grabbed Kyle's arm and forced him to walk away from the parking lot, not allowing any room for argument. The redhead followed, but only because he had no choice. Currently, being with Stan was a little too much for him to handle and truthfully, he just wanted to get out of there. He watched as a stray piece of the photograph was picked up by the wind. He caught a glimpse of a Stan's playful smile and closed his eyes, hating how it could sting so deep to know that it was a smile reserved for Stan's future girlfriend.

He heard Stan speaking to him, but never once tried to listen. He was too wrapped up in his own thoughts and couldn't bring himself to speak. Thankfully, Stan had let go of his arm and didn't seem to notice that he wasn't responding.

Once they were a considerable distance from the hospital Kyle finally spoke.

"Dude, who's this other girl you like?"

"What?"

"You said your heart was somewhere else. That means you like someone besides Wendy, right? Who is it?"

Stan smiled mysteriously. For a second Kyle wondered if he would have to beg to find out the answer. Not that he would. Beg, that is. He was too proud to do that, no matter how infatuated he was with Stan he refused to show that he had anything beyond friendly interest in his friend's love life.

Wait…infatuated?

"Why should I tell you?" Stan asked, flipping his black hair out of his eyes. His friend sighed, having expected this sort of response. It was strange though. Stan would usually just tell him things outright. He didn't play games, not like Cartman, and manipulating his friends wasn't in his interests. Maybe he just wanted to annoy Kyle.

He was succeeding. The realization that he'd fallen for his super best friend in a way that was certainly more than friendly made him tired. His mind was crammed with visions of him watching Stan trailing after some other random girl, giving Stan advice on how to improve the relationship and worst of all, watching them kiss and cuddle in a way that he'd never do with Kyle. It was an unpleasant thought and he suddenly wished he'd waited for his mom and Ike.

"Maybe I don't want to tell you."

"Why not?" he said wearily, biting back a snappy comment. He was tempted to say that he didn't care, that Stan would fuck up the relationship anyway. Tempted to say that the only person Stan should be with was _him_. Somehow, despite almost never holding back his opinions, he managed to restrain himself. He didn't want to hurt Stan's feelings, no matter how much of a dumbass he was.

"Maybe I'd rather show you." Without saying anything else Stan stopped, turning and facing him with a slight grin on his face. Before Kyle could comprehend what he was doing, his best friend had leaned forward and pressed their lips together softly.

It certainly wasn't a friendly kiss, but it was controlled, careful. As if Stan, despite his earlier confidence, was scared of being pushed away. Kyle was too surprised to even react, just stood there are enjoyed the sensation of Stan's lips upon his. He felt his cheeks heat up and his legs tremble from the suddenness of the kiss.

When they finally drew apart, the tingling feelings lingered inside of him, under his skin, everywhere. He wasn't sure what to say; did he really want to say anything?

Stan broke the silence, clearing his throat and smiling shakily. He scratched the back of his head, concerned by Kyle's lack of reaction. He didn't realize that Kyle being stunned into silence was a good thing, was a _wonderful _thing. "So…uh…was that okay for you?"

Kyle chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. "That…yeah. That was good." He felt his irritation slide away and suddenly he was more awake than ever. He began to walk towards the coffee shop, Stan following him with a large grin on his face. They were silent, but not because they didn't have anything to say, but because words wouldn't have been enough to express their joy.

00000

It took Damien about ten seconds to turn around and face Kenny. He didn't say anything; it wasn't his turn to speak. The moment he looked at Kenny's expression he knew that it was his turn to listen. There was no doubt in his mind that the blond boy had already figured out Damien half of the love story. Now he was on the edge of his seat, wondering what Kenny had figured out about his own feelings.

At the moment he glowing inside, absolutely sure that his life had finally gotten on track. He had finally gotten Kenny to reciprocate his feelings. It wasn't egotism, simply a realization that Kenny had kissed him first. He had not said anything, hadn't given any signals to indicate that he'd wanted to kiss. In fact, he'd probably been firing the opposite signals, considering the subject of their conversation.

But Kenny had kissed him anyway.

A flare of that old, devilish arrogance surprised him as he watched Kenny smile nervously. Seeing his friend so anxious made him finally glad that he wasn't being the insecure one. He wanted to put Kenny's mind at ease, convince him that the blond had nothing to worry about, but he was interested in what he had to say. He didn't want to blurt out his feelings without hearing Kenny say it first. He had vowed that he wouldn't make the first move.

"How long have we been here?" Kenny asked. Damien glanced at the clock. Time wasn't of much meaning in Hell, but they had clocks anyway. There were no time zones in Hell, all working clocks showed the same time.

"About twenty minutes." Kenny nodded silently, at a loss with what to say. He had already told Damien everything from some lame excuse behind the kiss before finally just admitting to liking him. Through the whole thing the son of Satan hadn't said anything and he was grateful and slightly worried as well. Damien's expression hadn't changed and Kenny wondered what was with the sudden change in personality.

"So, you're okay with it? With this?" he inquired nervously. "I don't want to pressure you by saying that I've never felt this way for anyone before, but it's true. I've had…a lot of relationships – if you could call them that. I've had more things and flings than all of my friends, for sure. Hell, I got my first blowjob at eight years old (1), but none of them have really meant much. Sure, there was that thing with Craig-" Damien scowled, something Kenny decided to take as encouragement, "-but even that was…was probably the farthest it got. When I kissed you it was…something else."

"What do you mean?"

"It was something more than all that other crap. I don't know how to explain it, but when we kissed I felt it…inside, you know?"

Of course Damien knew. He couldn't stop the feeling of happiness rising as he listened to Kenny say these words. It was something that seemed to wipe out the past two years of suffering and unrequited agony.

"I know that you're the son of Satan and after what happened with the List you have a lot of fucked up things going on. I know you probably don't need to deal with this right now but I felt bad for walking out on you like that and figured that it was best to get things out in the open in case you wanted to kick me out or something-"

He was interrupted by Damien bursting into laughter. The black-haired boy had doubled over in mirth, clutching the table for support. He scowled, furious that his worries had become entertainment. The throbbing headache from his hangover was still affecting him and reminding him of his foolish actions yesterday. He didn't really appreciate being laughed at.

"What the hell's so funny?" he snapped. Damien shook his head, wiping away tears. "If you think this is all a big laugh then I might as well just leave now."

"Oh Kenny…you're such a moron," he said. Kenny stared, affronted. "You thought I was going to kick you out? After yea- I mean, weeks of having a massive crush on you, you thought I'd kick you out the moment you returned my feelings?" Inside he froze, realizing he'd almost revealed the length of his crush. It wouldn't have elicited a good reaction, he was sure.

His words had more than appeased the hooded boy and he watched as the blond smiled tentatively.

"You mean…you feel the same way?"

"I'm surprised you haven't caught on. I'm sure I'm not so good at hiding it, considering the advice everyone has been trying to give me concerning you," Damien said, bemused. Kenny ran a hand through his hair, relieved beyond measure. He collapsed into the seat opposite of his friend.

"Goddamnit, I really _am _a moron. Everyone's been telling me that you like me, but I just didn't see it. Even _Adam _told me this and I didn't believe him. Chef tried to tell me but I figured that it's _Chef_ – his mind is always on that sort of stuff. I just can't believe I was so blind for all these months," he mumbled.

He felt someone lift his chin and he found himself staring into pitch black eyes. He was frozen in time, overcome from the rush of desire provoked by the gentle expression on Damien's face.

"It's okay. I forgive you."

Kenny felt his heart slamming against his chest. He couldn't reply, couldn't even think properly. His lips parted slightly and he gripped the side of the chair as Damien leaned forward and kissed him.

It was better than anything he'd experienced. Ironically he felt more alive than ever before, with Damien clutching him and pulling him closer until he could feel the heat radiating from his body. There was nothing between them, separating them and Damien took full advantage of this. Kenny wondered how it was even possible to feel so good from a single kiss. Every touch seemed to bring forth a surge of electricity that made him breathless and even once they pulled apart he was still dizzy from the aftereffect.

He stepped back, but Damien didn't let go of him. He was holding his arms firmly, as if worried that the moment he loosened his grip Kenny would bolt. But the blond had no intention of leaving. Not now, not ever. Not after having experienced something like that. He reached up, placing a hand on Damien's chest, feeling slightly giddy from pleasure.

"And to think, if I'd just been a little more observant we could've been doing _that _months ago," he said. Damien smirked, amused by this comment.

"Well, it's not as if we're lacking in time. We can make up for it," he replied. Kenny shivered in anticipation. That single comment had so many underlying messages.

"Let's start now," he said in a firm tone. Damien's eyes widened a fraction as Kenny pulled off his parka, then leaned forward invitingly until Damien was pushed back against the table. He seemed so sure of himself, and Damien wasn't about to refuse him. The thought didn't even cross his mind. Kenny paused, looking slightly puzzled. "I'm just wondering…have you ever done this before?"

"Yeah, I have. Do you remember that girl you spoke to named Meredith? She was my first. We slept together when I was fifteen, after dating for four months."

Kenny lifted his eyebrows in surprise. He certainly hadn't been expecting _that_. Somehow he pictured Damien as being deprived of all sexual contact, then realized it was a silly thing to think. Lots of people would want the attention of the son of Satan, especially considering he was dark and handsome and radiated evil.

"Only…only women?"

"Yes. Only women," he admitted. They were silent, then Kenny reached up and popped open the first button of his black collared top with his pinky. Damien felt his face flush and he bit his lip. He watched as Kenny began to undo the buttons of his shirt playfully. His mind had become surprisingly blank and he watched as Kenny fumbled with the buttons. He blushed slightly. "Fuck."

"What?"

"I've never had trouble doing this before. I must be nervous," he said in a shaky voice. Damien raised an eyebrow, reaching up to help Kenny remove the article of clothing.

"So?"

"I'm _never _nervous." His lips trembled and he tried to smile, but he averted his eyes. _Why was he so anxious? _He felt Damien grasp his wrists and he stopped, unsure of his reaction.

"I like that you're nervous," he muttered. Then he leaned down to capture Kenny's lips once more.

00000

The drug lord was leaning against the brick wall with an air of boredom, smoking a cigarette and playing the lighter as he waited. Strangely, he was not surrounded by his henchmen; people hired to protect him from those who wished great harm upon him. His business required a great deal of risk and sometimes he wondered whether it was really worth it. Then he realized that he'd dug himself into a ditch that was inescapable and the best way of surviving was to continue digging and hope you end up at the other end of the world.

Kevin hated waiting; even more than he hated the people who begged him for drugs but refused to pay the money up front. But right now he felt his anger rising slightly as he realized he'd been waiting for at least thirty minutes. This was thirty minutes that could be spent on something much more productive. Like drinking, or getting high…or finding his brother.

He sighed, pressing his palm against his forehead. He had thought he could stay away from Kenny, keep him out of the world he'd become trapped in but after seeing him once again he had felt himself bending to the longing for his old life. He'd trapped himself in Hell and he'd always known that Kenny would follow him to this place, but not so _soon_. Kenny's deaths were meant to be fleeting, but one of his contacts had revealed that his death was completely permanent. This is what Kevin had been dreading to hear but unfortunately, it was true. His contact had also informed him of the suspicious circumstances behind his death.

From what he'd learned it was only logical to assume that his death had been a setup. Somebody had planned to kill his brother. Even worse, somebody with intense comprehension of the secrets of Death and with enough knowledge to temporarily blind Satan from the workings of his own world.

He'd sent out almost half of all his men to go find information from anyone concerning absolutely anything about his brother's unfortunate fate. And now, two hours after his first meeting with his now deceased brother, one of his men had approached him say that they had come across a vaguely reliable source who was working in close proximity with Kenny, he had called her up and demanded that she tell him what she knew.

Once he'd heard from the source that she knew the circumstances behind his death, he'd immediately ordered her to meet with him. The shy voice had hesitantly suggested a place and now, an hour later, he was standing here, completely frustrated with this person's lack of punctuality.

If this person hadn't been so important, he would have abandoned the cause and left. Only this time, he wasn't selling. He was buying. He needed the information more than the person needed to give it. He was the one with something to lose. And he'd be the idiot standing here for five hours if the need arose.

He didn't notice the girl rounding the corner, wearing a bulky hooded jumper and baggy jeans, as if she hadn't a care in the world. She had her hands in the front pocket of her hoodie and was scuffing her tennis shoes into the ground softly. Once she caught sight of Kevin her posture immediately changed, but not noticeably so that it would catch his attention. She hunched slightly, crossing her arms in front of her stomach and tilted her head downward so her eyes were focused around his feet. She walked nervously, shuffling towards him quietly.

Vivian watched as Kevin glanced up, the corners of his mouth pulled down irritably. He smoothed his features into a neutral expression with difficulty but she hadn't missed the look of annoyance and smirked inwardly. _Good, he's pissed off. I need him to hold onto that_, she thought smugly. He flicked the cigarette onto the floor and ground it into the floor with his heel. She noticed that his face had turned slightly red but other than that his expression was a mask of blankness. He was making it clear that he was here for the information she was about to give him and nothing else.

Vivian's face pulled into a mask of worry as she reached for the acting skills she had so often used when luring victims. It was strange, acting the 'innocent young girl' once again after being fear and revered for so long. The wide eyes, slightly pouting lips and tilted chin seemed so unfamiliar, so forced. She wanted to remove this mask from her face but deliberately kept her lovely face sweet and youthful.

"Well? What is it you want to say?" he snapped, getting straight to the point. He was not charmed by her act, which she had predicted, but she felt that it was safe he learn this information from a 'meek, skittish maidservant' as opposed to 'lying, manipulative bitch'. "Be quick. I'm busy and I don't have time for anything less than what I want to hear." She winced, looking stung by these words. Inside she was enjoying the directness of this boy. Perhaps when everything was over with she could seduce him. He was quite handsome after all, and incredibly influential.

"Well, it's about…it's about your brother," she whispered. Kevin's eyes narrowed as she continued her little charade. "I found out something that muh-might mean…well, I didn't want to cause any trouble but…" She bit her lip, glancing down worriedly. Kevin interrupted her impatiently.

"Yes, I'm aware that this is about my brother. Get to the point before I decide to leave." She noted that he was good at keeping his emotions in check, even managing to keep his voice above the anger he was feeling. He spoke with the impatience of men who had little time for trivial things, but who was no more than vaguely bothered by this waste of time. She paused for a few seconds, remaining hesitant, before she spoke in a slightly rushed, nervous tone.

"W-Well, it's about your b-brother and the…the heir to the th-throne," she mumbled. (2) "The son of His Unholiness h-has been quite close to your buh-brother and I fear that he is involved w-with his death." Her words were barely above a whisper. She twiddled her fingers nervously.

Kevin, on the other hand, was torn between shock and curiosity. He had no clue as to why Satan's kid would be involved in Kenny's death. As far as he knew, Damien had been in South Park once, maybe twice and the only time he'd interacted with Kenny was to turn him into a platypus. He hardly saw how that would merit murdering him or at least, being somewhat involved in the murders.

What was really interesting him was the fact that this girl seemed recognizable to him. She acted as if she had never met him but he was certain that somehow, he was acquainted with her.

He tilted his head, trying to place her somewhere. Something about her seemed so familiar but he wasn't really able to…name her. Frustrated, he barely heard her as she spoke, watching her trembling lips and the slight tint of pink on her cheeks. He didn't know her in person, but there was something almost unnatural to the way she spoke. She was a good actress but he, someone who dealt with liars and criminals, someone who forced himself to slip into a different persona around his inferiors, was able to see that what she was doing was simply that – an act.

"I know you…" he said slowly. The cigarette dangled from his lips and he scowled, the realization crossing his mind. He _did_ know this girl, just not from a personal encounter.

"Y-you _know _me?" she stammered uncertainly. "I don't think so. I'm just one of the maids; I don't think you'd-"

Kevin interrupted her irritably. "Cut the act, bitch. Your reputation precedes you. Do you really think that _I _wouldn't know who you are?" He took a drag from his cigarette then proceeded to stare her down. "I've seen you, heard about you, read about you. Someone who does this job would have to be aware of the most notorious people in the area. Believe me, you're near the top of the list, bitch. One of Satan's top commanders, richer than a third of this area put together and involved in thousands of undercover dealings and crimes. I've seen your picture so many times, I'm surprised it even took me this long to place you. I guess I just never expected you to be putting on this fucktard angel act." He threw the cigarette down and crushed it forcefully under his boot.

Vivian stared at him, eyes calculating and amused. She had expected him to figure it out eventually. He was too well connected to be unaware of who she was. And she was just too reputable to be anyone other than herself. She straightened, arms crossing in front of her stomach and leaned against the wall, facing the street.

"I guess it was foolish to try and trick you. I figured that you would believe a nosy maid rather than a notorious criminal who most likely had an ulterior motive," she chuckled. Her voice was sharp yet calm. The sudden change in attitude added years to her face and now she looked older, more experienced. "The act has worked with so many others. People who believe I'm too timid and underestimate me." She sighed, running her hands through her hair.

"Just tell me why you're here. You said you have information concerning my brother and Damien. What is it?" he asked. His voice was considerably subdued compared to before. He wasn't an idiot; pissing off one of the Commanders wasn't the smartest move to make. His un-life was miserable enough without making more enemies. He looked her up and down. She was a mature girl who looked beyond her age and her attitude was something unseen on a mere thirteen year old. Then again, so many people in Hell were centuries old with the appearance of children. He felt a twinge of attraction and quickly shoved it down, concentrating on the moment.

"Being in close contact with Satan's son, I was ordered to collect your brother from the airport and bring him into Satan's mansion. Due to the strangeness of this request I decided to investigate into this matter and sent some of my most trusted men. Some of my…_sources_ learned that Kenny's death was under exceptionally suspicious circumstances. None of the Reapers had been informed of his upcoming death which means that they hadn't been the ones to reap his soul, his death time had been written differently on the List and amazingly enough, even Satan had been completely in the dark until Kenny had arrived in the terminal," she said, reaching out for a cigarette. He pulled it out and handed it to her, twining his fingers with her for longer than necessary before letting go.

She smirked at him, taking his lighter and watching the flame dance around before she continued. "We continued the investigation, targeting a few powerful individuals. I had no doubt in my mind that Damien had something to do with this, but I wanted proof before I took action. Then, we got a lead from one of the Ancients that one of their texts had gone missing. It contained certain spells that were older and more powerful than Satan himself. And somebody had stolen it."

Kevin raised his eyebrow. He couldn't imagine anyone being brave enough to steal from an Ancient. Ancients were those who had been alive for many millennia, who were even more powerful than Satan himself, wiser, more experienced. They were the ones who had survived Hell with their sanity intact and had risen to power. Of all those feared, the Ancients were the on the very peak of everyone's respect. And to steal from an Ancient was to condemn one's soul to an eternity of something even darker and more devastating than Hell itself. No one knew, because no one had ever returned from such a place.

"Brave bastard," he mumbled. She nodded in agreement. "I'm guessing that's what Kenny's murderer used to cover up the death."

"You guessed right. That book contains spells that enable a death to be completely cast in the dark. The spell is so powerful that everyone who is spiritually connected to a Death will be temporarily blind to it, allowing the murderer to reap a soul without having their identity revealed. In other words, Kenny's murder was unpredicted and his murderer was completely unknown," she said. She played with the cigarette, moving closer to him. He was trapped between her flirtation and what she was telling him. "At least…until recently."

"_Damien_." The name was spat out in a choked snarl and Kevin's face darkened as he realized what she had been implying all this time. He felt an immense hatred towards the son of the Devil for committing such an act against his brother. He was burning on the inside, smoldering with fury, suddenly vividly imagining the numerous ways he could destroy his brother's killer.

"Exactly. We located the book hidden within Damien's room. It was the one that was stolen, and on the exact page with the spell he has scribbled in instructions for himself, ramblings and so on. Written on that very same page is a spell that will reveal who the murderer is to the caster. And _that_ is where _you _come in." In an unusually dramatic gesture she lifted her arm then brought it down to point at him. He stepped back, slightly confused.

"Me?"

"Yes, you. You are an immediate relative of Kenny, you have no ulterior motive _and _you have no knowledge of sorcery or dark magic, which is why Kenny will believe you when you show him the book and expose Damien as his murderer," she said triumphantly. For a second she looked tauntingly cruel, her face split by a twisted grin and her eyes wide with chaotic pleasure. She was silent for a moment, then drew out a picture, which she stuffed in his hand. It was a picture of a large volume with unintelligible words written on the front. It was a completely different language, not similar to anything on Earth. At least, nothing he had ever seen.

"Which page?" he said grimly. His heart was thundering as the realization of what he was meant to do dawned upon him.

His mission was to reveal Damien's true involvement in Kenny's death, but was it worth breaking his brother's heart? After all, Kenny had admitted to kissing Damien and his discontent at Damien's shocked reaction proved to Kevin that he had feelings for him. And now, Kevin was about to push him over the edge. Not only would he shatter the image of Kenny's new crush but he would be leaving Kenny trapped in a world without close friends.

Kevin couldn't, _wouldn't _allow Kenny into his little circle of drug dealing and completely ruin him. But he knew that if Kenny left his current safe haven he wouldn't have anywhere else to go. He thought of his little brother wandering around with no friends, no souls and no home. He would probably end up selling himself every night, something ten times more dangerous in Hell than on Earth.

He began to formulate a plan as to what he would do with Kenny once he'd completely ruined his most important friendship. His people could set him up in an apartment and protect him from others. Kevin was more than willing to hands over enough souls for Kenny to survive relatively well until he got a job…

Vivian interrupted his train of thought. "When you open it, it will show you what you're looking for," she said. "You're the only one he'll trust, Kevin. If you tell him, he won't suspect you're lying because you care about his wellbeing. If it were anyone else he would have no reason to believe them."

Kevin nodded, feeling downcast. He slipped the picture into his pocket and decided that he would allow Kenny a few more weeks of blissful ignorance. He wasn't eager to force Kenny into Hellish reality yet. "I'll do it. Just give me a little while. I have to contact a few people to set things up for Kenny. Doubt he's going to remain where he is once I tell him." She nodded in understanding, having calmed down slightly.

He glanced her up and down without subtlety, making it clear that he wanted a change of subject and she complied, flirtatiously moving closer until she was near enough to whisper suggestively in his ear. Now the time for official business was over and they were two strangers who were looking for a night together. Kevin relaxed into the person he had once been – just someone looking for some wild fun without responsibilities or fear.

He studied her, watched as she pulled her brown hair out of its ponytail and let it cascade around her pretty face. She was certainly mature looking and, unlike most people in Hell, she looked physically older than she did when she had first died. Anyone could easily mistake her for a seventeen year old with rare, childlike quirks. Perhaps it was the years of training to be a soldier that added the hardship and maturity to her face. All the soldiers he had met had the same dangerous glint in their eyes but he'd never found himself so attracted to it until now.

He slipped an arm around Vivian's shoulders and began to lead her towards his house and she complied without hesitation. They left the alleyway together, walking onto the street and disappearing down the corner.

In their wake, the man sitting on a rooftop cackled as he watched them leave. He straightened, moving back from the edge of the roof feeling distinctly satisfied with what had just occurred. Arrow had quite enjoyed listening to their conversation, knowing that Vivian would easily convince Kevin to help his brother. He silently congratulated her on finding the perfect messenger and now he found it quite amusing that she had turned a mission into her own personal pleasure.

He didn't disapprove. After all, she had convinced Kevin and now she was allowed to do as she pleased. "Finally, things are going my way," he said delightedly.

He sat on the ground, playing with his hunter's blade and watching his companion who had not moved from the rooftop despite the disappearance of the couple. He had never seen Marcus so completely still with such a devastated look on his face. The man reached up with a trembling hand to push his glasses up, a gesture that was merely habitual.

He had been completely silent during the exchange, but it was only when they had walked off together that his shaking had stilled and his eyes had widened with shock. Now he still had yet to say anything. His face dimmed as the glow of the fires in the distance subsided temporarily and finally the hand gripping the edge of the rooftop fell to his side.

"But why would she…" he mumbled, then stopped himself. His eyes were bright, distraught. An involuntary sigh escaped his lips. "_Blood..."_

00000

(1) Season 13, Episode 1 – The Ring.

(2) Nobody is yet aware that Damien has lost his right to ascend the throne. Vivian and most people in Hell are still under the impression that Damien will be crowned Prince of Darkness once Satan steps down.

And there you go. My little darling Vivian has just ruined everything. God, she's such a lovely little pawn. And yes, I would like to explain that although she is 'technically' thirteen, she has been in Hell for a very long time and is no longer thirteen in mind and has the appearance of an adolescent, although she can easily look younger simply by pulling an innocent face. Therefore she is mature enough to have any sort of relationship she wants. And, I have to add, this is Hell so social restrictions don't really apply in Hell anyway.

I hope you enjoyed reading that because I definitely enjoyed writing it. Please review; it's so nice reading your opinions and always makes me want to write so much faster!


	11. On the Seventh Day

**Notes: **This one actually took a surprisingly long time to write. I've just had so much work all of a sudden and was hit by this lack of motivation to write anything. But now I'm back and I've finished a new chapter, which I hope was worth the wait. And your reviews are all so wonderful and they make me so happy every time I read them. Plus reviews always make me feel guilty for not writing fast enough. This chapter was great to write especially since Kenny has _finally _gotten the hint when it comes to Damien.

Enjoy the chapter! Oh, and review. They make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. So thanks to all those who took the time to review last chapter.

As for the rest of you, you lazy people…I know where you live…(not really) so sleep with one eyes open…

Chapter Eleven

On the Seventh Day

On the first day of their relationship Kenny and Damien didn't leave the bedroom.

On the second day, Kenny walked out clad only in a towel. He tiptoed to the kitchen and loaded up on junk food and soft drinks. When he caught sight of Chef looking at him with disapproval he blushed shamefully and slunk back to the bedroom, dragging behind him the blanket he'd used to carry the food.

Nobody saw him or Damien for the rest of the day, but Chef noticed a continuous decline in the quantity of food in the fridge during the day. He also noted that the hamburgers he'd left out had disappeared and decided to confront them about it later.

On the third day the two boys left the house in order to go to the cinema. Kenny stopped by his room in order to grab his parka and ten minutes later they closed the gate behind them, Damien shooing the guard dogs away. Kenny stared in awe at the massive Rottweiler that was attempting to jump over the gate, yapping and gnawing at the metal bars excitably. Although they had been ordered not to attack him he still wasn't comfortable considering they were almost twice the size of normal dogs. According to Damien they weren't dogs, they were hellhounds that his father had had trained from birth.

"It's okay, they won't hurt you," Damien said reassuringly.

"Well, I know that. Otherwise I'd be mauled by now." He leaned forward to eye the dog warily. Damien reached through the gate to pet him. The dog wagged its tail in a manner that was reserved only for his true masters before turning to leave. Kenny shuddered and walked down the path, heading towards the mall that they had yet to explore. Damien followed closely, reaching out to grab his hand. "So what are we going to watch? Do movies come out in Hell the same way they do on Earth?"

Damien thought about it, then shrugged. "I guess so. We have a few producers here in Hell who create some of the most disturbing crap you'll ever find. Some of them make normal movies, but most of them produce horror films that make the 'Top Ten Scariest Movies' look like chicken shit. In fact, there's one out right now." He pulled out a torn magazine page and scanned the list. "Here we go. _Dementia_. One of the guys I know said it's the scariest movie he's ever seen." He handed Kenny the page.

The blond read the synopsis then looked up, grinning excitedly. "That looks fucking cool! Let's watch it!" Damien laughed at how typical this reaction was. They entered the mall, heading towards the top floor. Unlike the streets, corpses were prohibited inside this building, so it was relatively normal looking. Kenny passed at least seven demons – one of them on the brink of insanity that Damien quickly pulled him away from – and a few people with disfigured faces.

He was unable to tear his eyes away from the burns, the cuts, the whip marks, the branded numbers, the numerous evidences of torture that most people had onto their skins. Their faces and arms held the marks of torture and their eyes were haunted by memories of agony. In the back of his mind, he allowed himself to wonder if he would look like this one day. The prospect was too terrifying to contemplate and he quickly turned away, taking comfort in the presence of his lover. Damien had draped an arm over his shoulders casually as they walked past the shops.

He noticed that the brands were the same as on Earth. Some shops had large bodyguards standing outside, arms crossed and eyes wandering over the various customers. They were men paid to stop thieves and robbers from entering the stores.

As Kenny watched, a young boy snatched a bag of chips from a counter and attempted to run off with it. He stood, frozen, as one of the guards reached out and snatched the kid by his arm. He proceeded to take back the bag of chips and throw the child over the side of the railing, walking back and ignoring the screams as the boy dropped from a height of four storeys.

"Jesus Christ! Damien, what the fuck just happened?" he gasped, shocked by this display. He tried to run to the railing and peer over to see if the boy was okay but Damien grabbed him and pulled him back. "All he did was take a bunch of chips!"

"Damn it, Kenny! Don't look!" he ordered, dragging him away from the scene. Only a few people had tried to look over – everyone else ignored the incident and continued. Kenny guessed that the people who looked had only arrived in Hell recently, like himself. "These things happen here – you should be used to it by now. Someone will take him to the hospital…maybe. It's not like he can die." His lips were pressed together in grim defeat as Kenny tried to struggle out of his grasp. The tall boy had seen what had happened, but unlike Kenny he had simply ignored the event and continued. He lived through this everyday; it was just another random happening in an uneventful day.

Kenny turned to look at him, the suddenly realization growing. He still wasn't accustomed to the violence in Hell, to the extremity of the indifference to people's suffering.

He allowed Damien to steer him away from the scene and towards the cinema, muttering calming things in his ear. There was nothing that could be done. In Hell, the punishment for crimes was a lot worse if you got caught – and most people were caught. People liked to take the law into their own hands, and since this was Hell, nobody cared what you did to those who pissed you off.

They reached the cinema and Damien immediately went to go buy the tickets for _Dementia_ while Kenny looked at the list of movies in the cinema. There was at least fifty of them listed – more than the cinemas on Earth for sure. A few of them, he was surprised to see, were some old, famous movies like _The Godfather_. Only two of them had come out recently.

Some of them were movies he recognized. They were ones that had come out on Earth, under the label 'Earth films'. Then there were the ones produced in Hell. One of them was _Dementia _and the other was a movie about romance between a demon and a human on Earth. He sighed as he realized that clichés still existed in Hell.

His eyes traveled to the Earth films. Some of them were ones that he watched on Earth with the others, some of them were ones he'd never seen. His eyes traveled down the list until he reached a familiar title and he stopped. On number twelve was written, "Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. Warning: contains graphic non-consensual sex scenes." The corners of his mouth twitched as he remembered Kyle sobbing about the terrible incident. He drew back, suddenly realizing that he hadn't thought about his friends in quite a while. At least, he hadn't associated it with homesickness.

"Kenny, you sure you want to watch this movie?" Damien asked, handing him a jumbo sized popcorn and a massive cup of coke.

Kenny scoffed. "Please, I can handle horror movies. After what I've been through in South Park, not much scares me." Damien had a skeptical look on his face but he didn't say anything, simply handing him the ticket. And then they entered the cinema.

Two hours later, Damien supported a nauseous, paper-white Kenny, half-laughing and half-concerned at his predicament. He was literally holding Kenny up as the other boy's legs refused to work and every movement he made sent waves of nausea through him. He closed his eyes, leaning his head on Damien's shoulder and muttering that he never, ever wanted to watch a horror movie again. Damien chuckled, shaking his head.

"I warned you it was going to be harsh. Movies made in Hell aren't the same as movies made on Earth. People have a different capacity for fear and torture. Once you've gone through what the Torturers hand out, you don't find these movies as bad as someone who's just recently landed in Hell," Damien explained. Kenny bit his lip, turning slightly gray from the memory.

Damien was forced to call a taxi to bring them home, despite it being a ten-minute walk.

On the fourth day the fires of Hell flickered and died and 'night' befell them.

They were forced to stay inside, listening to music on their headphones. Damien lay on the bed with Kenny's head on his stomach. Kenny's eyes had dark smudges under them from lack of sleep. At two in the morning he had stumbled into Damien's room, whining about how he was too scared to sleep and insisted on keeping the light on and staying awake for the rest of the night. Every once in a while he still jumped up when there was movement and Damien had to calm him down.

Now it was eight and they were exhausted. Kenny was listening to the music that was popular with him and his friends in South Park, while Damien was listening to some heavy metal Hell band. They didn't say much, but every once in a while one of them would burst into song and the other would pause their music and join in before lapsing into a comfortable silence again.

"Have you ever been to Heaven?" Kenny asked suddenly. Damien pulled out his headphones and Kenny did likewise. He looked at the older boy questioningly and repeated what he had said.

Damien thought back to when he was younger and nodded. "Once. My dad had to meet with God for some reason so he took me up there because I was curious. I wandered around for a little bit, talked to a few people."

"What did you think?"

Damien made a noise of distaste; a common reaction that Hell dwellers had to the mention of Heaven and its inhabitants. "It was white, boring and I got lectured for swearing. Not to mention the guy who welcomed me and my dad used the words "Gosh darn it" when Dad's hellhound almost bit his leg off. I couldn't wait to get back here." Kenny laughed. He remembered his experiences in Heaven. The most vivid one was when he fought against the Army of Hell armed solely with a PSP.

He wondered if Satan was still bitter about that.

On the fifth day Kenny whined as Damien dragged him from the bedroom. He wanted to stay in bed all day, but the other boy insisted on going to the beach.

"Stay here with me!" Kenny said, wrapping arms around Damien's waist. He fiddled with his waistband suggestively, grinning up at his boyfriend. "I'll make it worth your while." Damien stared down at him, eyebrows raised in amusement as he walked forward and the blond slid off the bed gracefully, still hanging around his waist.

"Not interested," he said, though his cheeks flushed slightly.

"Fuck you! I don't want to go to the fucking beach!" Kenny snapped irritably. "I never had to go to the beach when I was still alive!" He tightened his grip, brushing his lips against Damien's stomach. He whined in frustration as this produced no effect. He didn't realize that the other boy's cheeks were now a dark red.

"That's because you were too poor to spend money on swimsuits."

"Don't make fun of my family, you blood belching vagina!" Kenny howled, letting go and storming towards the bathroom. Damien grabbed his arm playfully and swung him around, kissing him deeply. Kenny let out a moan and leant forward, reaching up to wrap his arms around Damien's neck and put more pressure into the kiss. When they broke apart his eyes were dreamy and he leaned forward, pressing his face against Damien's warm chest.

The son of the Devil was naturally warm and it reminded him of the cold winters when he'd gone to his friends' houses on Christmas Eve and sat by the fire. The memories resurfaced and his stubbornness waned. "Okay, okay, we'll go to the beach if you want. You've convinced me, you evil bastard."

Damien smirked triumphantly and dragged a reluctant Kenny to the garage. They drove down to one of the beaches that had no corpses strewn around and was usually devoid of people. Kenny pulled his shirt off and climbed out of the car once they had arrived. His eyes roamed the horizon, squinting as he tried to find any indication that he was in Hell.

"Looks like a regular beach," he commented. His gaze drifted over the sand suspiciously, searching for a clue that would send him careening back into the Underworld: a severed hand, a stray eyeball or something to that effect. Damien grunted, pulling towels out of the trunk of the car.

"Yeah, that'll last for about three more hours." Kenny shot him a confused look. He refused to explain the meaning behind his words and for the next three hours they relaxed on the beach, swimming around lazily. Every once in a while Damien would jump on Kenny and steal a kiss before diving down, pulling the other with him. There was no one else to witness their antics and they played around like excited children.

The water was lukewarm and the waves were almost non-existent, which Damien insisted was a good thing because it meant that the bodies wouldn't wash up on shore for quite a while. After this, Kenny had begun to swim back to the beach, grumbling under his breath and yelping whenever his feet brushed against something.

Once they were lying on the beach, soaking up the heat, they drifted into a comfortable quiet. Kenny was stretched out, one arm under his head and the other limply by his side. He considered turning over so his back wouldn't be neglected, then wondered vaguely if it was possible to get a tan in Hell. Damien's hand clasped onto his absent-mindedly. Kenny enjoyed the feeling of his callous fingers stroking his skin. In fact, he was enjoying everything about this moment.

Hell had become something much more comfortable to him in the space of so little time. Somehow here in Hell, he felt more at home than ever before. It wasn't strange, considering he had spent so much time here since almost every day of his life had been interrupted by his own death. Yet now it seemed as though he'd lived here his whole life and South Park was nothing but a passing memory.

He was certain that the transition would have been a lot more troublesome without Damien to be there for him and inside he felt intensely grateful that he'd found a friend so helpful and loving, one who wasn't like all the other residents of Hell. He would have had to work to own souls in order to gain his freedom, then trudged through the afterlife trying to stay away from the rapists and drug dealers and ex-murderers. He knew from the people he'd talked to that considering the amount of sinners in Hell, most people had misjudged certain characters with dire consequences.

He glanced at Damien, feeling his chest tighten with exhilaration as the glow of the fires brightened his face, giving him an ethereal quality. The dark-haired teen had his head tilted back, enjoying the warmth on his skin. Lips that had explored his body so gently were parted slightly and his eyes were closed. As Kenny watched, he shifted slightly and closed his mouth, smiling at some thought invisible to his boyfriend.

Kenny reveled in the fact that this boy was _his_. Everything about him belonged to Kenny, or so he said in his possessive mind. He reached up and turned over, draping himself over Damien's side, gripping his shoulder and staring down into gorgeous pitch black eyes. Damien's eyes had widened in mild surprise and he reached up to brush a lock of hair out of Kenny's hair. He was staring intensely, locking him into his gaze and rendering him unable to move away. It was the effect he had on Kenny.

"I love you," he said, the words escaping him so easily. Immediately, he blushed, cheeks tinged with pink and looked away, slightly embarrassed. Kenny blinked, stunned by the sudden admission. They hadn't officially said it to each other, though Kenny was completely aware that Damien felt it. It showed in the way he hugged Kenny for a little longer than necessary, the way he subtly pushed the last chocolate towards Kenny when they were watching TV and snacking, and the way he glared at anyone who came just a little too close to his love.

"Wow, wasn't expecting that," he chuckled. Damien relaxed, relieved by his reaction. He continued to stroke Kenny's cheek lightly as the younger boy leaned forward and nuzzled again his neck. Kenny smiled, knowing that he wasn't expecting a response. "I…think I love you too." He stopped, trying to let the words roll off his tongue naturally. "I love you. Huh, that wasn't so hard. I love you."

The smile on Damien's face was brilliant. Kenny's heart thundered and he felt the blood rushing in his ears from that simple smile. He couldn't form a coherent thought, but he knew that if he hadn't been in love with Damien before, he was now.

On the sixth day they went to _Gate _to see Adam and a group of his friends. The bar was closed to outsiders and Adam drunkenly announced that all drinks were on the house.

Kenny remembered nothing that happened that night. He woke up with the biggest hangover and was wearing three pairs of pants and one shoe.

His head throbbed from the effort of moving and he lifted himself off of Damien's bed, groaning as nausea overcame him and for one dreadful second he feared he was going to puke all over the bed sheets. He closed his eyes, a bead of sweat rolling down the side of his face before successfully fighting down the urge to hurl and turned back, lying down on his side and deducing that the best way to fight his hangover was to simply lie down and wait for it to end. His eyes traveled around the room, taking in the trashed furniture and graffiti on the walls. Someone had sprayed a vulgar drawing of a penis on his ceiling and for a second Kenny wondered how anyone had even gotten up there.

He groaned, pulling off the other two pairs of pants. He was incredibly confused to how he had ended up wearing pants that didn't belong to him or Damien. Pulling out the tag, he read the words _"Adam Sullivan"_, then chuckled softly. Somewhere out there, Adam was waking up without any pants and wondering what the hell had happened.

Kenny hoped that he would be able to explain why he had woken up in this state.

"Fuck. Where's my shoe?" he mumbled sleepily. He kicked off the one he was wearing and curled up, ignoring the tinkling of glass as the shoe landed on a broken beer bottle.

Someone shifted behind him. He turned slightly in order to be able to see Damien, who had woken up wearing only his boxers. Kenny glared at him blearily, noting how he didn't seem hung over at all. The tall boy stood up, making the bed shake and earning a pained groan from his significant other. He stopped, smiling sympathetically at Kenny and leaning over to pin him down on the bed.

Kenny turned away, putting his hand to Damien's chest to push him away. "Noooo, don't. I feel sick," he whined. Damien laughed, shaking his head and pecking him on the lips. Kenny scoffed, pushing him off. Once Damien turned away the corners of his lips twitched and he flopped onto his stomach, insides churning. "Oh God, just kill me now."

"Too late," Damien grinned. "You're already dead." He stood up, stretching his arms and yawning loudly. He kicked aside the numerous bottles and glasses to make his way to the bathroom. "_Damn, _how much did we drink last night? These don't come from Adam's bar." He picked up a bottle of wine, turning it over and studying the date.

"This…is the…_worst_…hangover I've ever…had," Kenny snarled, motioning to Damien to help him up. "Bathroom…sick…_now_." The black-haired boy slipped his arms under his shoulders and knees, carrying him to the bathroom where Kenny emptied his stomach noisily. Damien left the room while Kenny brushed his teeth, headache still insanely agonizing but at least his stomach had calmed down. He listened to Damien shuffling around, cleaning up the trash and throwing it into a plastic bag. "Okay, am I the only one who doesn't remember what happened last night? Do you remember what happened?"

"Nope. I have a vague memory of you betting your shoe that Clarence could down a bottle of Bacardi within one minute. Did you win?"

Kenny rubbed his eyes. So that explained why he woke up with only one shoe. "I'm pretty sure I lost." He staggered back to the bed, somehow maneuvering himself around the furniture. He had to be wary of the broken glass, crumpled paper, crushed beer cans, chip packets and pizza boxes. "Wait, who the hell is Clarence?"

"No idea." Without warning, Damien leapt forward grabbing Kenny and pushing him back onto the bed, heedless of his current suffering. Kenny yelped in surprise, but it was silenced as Damien pressed their lips together, gently probing with his tongue until Kenny finally arched up, responding to his actions. He moaned, lost in pleasure as Damien slid his hands down to the small of his back before finally pulling away. Kenny looked up at him with half-lidded eyes, gasping from the suddenness of it all. "I love you. I love you so much." Damien nipped at his ear, but not hard enough to draw blood.

"I love you too," Kenny responded, shivering with pleasure as Damien's tongue flicked in and out of his ear. He pouted as Damien moved to the side, twirling Kenny's blond hair around his finger.

"I'm going to be back late tomorrow. Dad is making me have lunch with some of those asstard associates of his." His voice darkened with annoyance.

"I thought you weren't even going to be the Prince of Darkness. Why do you still have to meet with those guys?"

"He says it will be useful for my future. I'm sure that improving relations with employees will be real handy when I'm in a metal cylinder being roasted over a fire," he said bitterly. His comment was met with a shocked silence and he turned, looking immediately regretful at his outburst. Kenny paled slightly and turned to stare at the bed, his fringe brushing against his eyelids. He felt his heart thudding in his ears as sheer terror and uncertainty gripped him and barely felt Damien's arms enclose him protectively. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. Please forgive me, that was insensitive."

"But it was the truth, wasn't it?"

"Not if I can do anything about it," Damien snarled, kissing Kenny fiercely, possessively. He was almost swept away by the raw desire in the kiss and decided that the future wasn't worth worrying about. At least, not this very moment.

00000

On the seventh day of their relationship Kevin decided that he couldn't stand by idly and watch his brother fall in love with someone who had murdered him.

Kenny was sitting in on of the beanbags in his boyfriend's room. His legs were propped up on the bed, head tilted backwards and he was watching television upside down. Damien had left a few hours ago. He had been grumpy upon leaving, angered that after being denied the throne he was still being forced to meet with unpleasantly greedy bastards.

He stared at the television, his eyes glazed over with boredom. He'd noticed that all the luxuries he'd never had when he was alive weren't of interest to him without a friend. He felt a twinge of sadness as he remembered how in South Park he had never been lonely. There was always Stan or Kyle to hang out with or, God forbid even Cartman had been good entertainment on the dreary days. All of his new friends in Hell were great, but every once in a while someone would point to one of his newfound acquaintances and mention the women he'd raped, or the babies she'd smothered, or the dirt poor workers he'd taken advantage of when alive. It was disturbing to know that he was talking to a teenager who'd shot three people before committing suicide, or an old lady who'd smothered her own granddaughter in order to discipline her, or the father who had prostituted his girlfriend under threat of death.

All these little pieces of information kept reminding him that he was in a place where the majority people were sinners who had committed the most sickening crimes. True, most came to Hell having done nothing but indulged in a few pleasures such as premarital sex, forgetting to go to church and envying the neighbor's family but living in Hell for a few centuries changed people. He was insanely grateful that Damien, after seventeen years of living in Hell, had not become a psychopathic murderer.

Kenny lifted the remote, changing the channel every once in a while. He groaned blearily under his breath, squinting his eyes.

"Why are there no interesting channels in Hell?" he mumbled. "Documentary. Music Channel. Documentary. Crap movie. Shit movie. Documentary. Goddam-"

"Kenny."

He looked up in surprise, immediately recognizing the owner of the voice. He scrambled to his feet, turning off the television and whirling around. He found himself face to face with his older brother, who had the most somber expression that he'd ever seen. His joy at seeing his sibling dissipated slightly as he realized that Kevin didn't look happy to be talking to him at the moment.

Kevin was leaning against the bookshelf, face half-hidden in the darkness of the shadow. His brother's brown hair was messier than usual and he was holding an unlit cigarette in his hand. His eyes were averted, staring with great concentration at the ground. He wasn't carrying himself with that cool confidence that he'd possessed last time they met. Instead he had hunched over, looking similar to the brother Kenny had known during the last few months of his life. Broken, lost, unsure.

He felt a slight tinge of fear, but pushed it aside. He didn't want to make any assumptions about why Kevin was here. "What's wrong? Did something bad happen? Are you alright?" Kenny asked, concerned. He stepped forward, reaching out but Kevin shook his head, moving away.

"Don't, Kenny. Don't be concerned about me. You should be more worried about yourself."

"What's that supposed to mean? What's going on?"

His brother was silent, looking slightly uncomfortable with the situation. He hesitated, then turned away and sighed. "There's something I have to…tell you. But I have to warn you, you're not going to like it and it's going to ruin everything. _Everything_. I've spent the past few days wondering whether to tell you the truth or simply let you go on like this. But I figured that you'd want to hear it from me rather than anyone else."

Kenny shook his head, confused by what his brother was saying. "What are you talking about? What do you mean, it'll ruin everything? Fuck, just spit it out already."

"Kenny, your death wasn't an accident," Kevin stated. "You were murdered."

The pause that followed was so tense that neither of them could breathe. The room was devoid of any sound or movement for what seemed like an eternity. Kevin didn't dare penetrate the silence so instead he watched his brother stiffen, unsure how to react to the unexpected news.

It was obvious that he had put his death almost completely behind him from the way he shook his head helplessly. His eyes became shadowed with denial.

"I died of a car accident," he said, his voice trembling. It was phrased as a statement, but there was a questioning tone to it. He suddenly wasn't confident in what he knew, needing his brother to confirm what had happened. "Craig was…driving. He didn't do it on purpose, if that's what you mean." His tone was sharp, daring Kevin to place the blame on Craig. There was a protective warning behind his words and Kevin immediately put his hands up to halt his train of thought.

"No. Fuck, Kenny, that's not what I meant. What I meant was that the car accident was…was planned, in a way. This is so fucking hard to explain, but someone down here used magic in order to kill you," he sighed. It seemed like he was having difficulty stringing words together. Kenny put his hands up in frustration, gritting his teeth together to stop himself from screaming.

"You mean someone down here did some fucking hocus pocus and _murdered _me?"

"It's more complicated than that, because this person was forced to hide what they were doing from Satan and his Reapers. They couldn't simply kill you, they had to cover up the trail it would leave behind. Only superior beings can kill people, and Satan always has to be informed. If he isn't, he can trace the magic back to its source and the punishment is…worse than you can imagine," he paused to let his words sink in. Once Kenny showed some indication of understanding he continued. "To put it simply, a powerful being in Hell killed you before you were meant to die and then covered it up so no one could find who it was."

Kenny dropped onto the bed, letting his head fall into his hands limply. A dry sob forced its way out of his throat and for a few seconds he was overcome by a feeling of helplessness. He had never felt so…_blind_ to what was going on around him. He wanted to stop time and just let himself deal with what he was being told but he needed to know more.

"I don't understand…why would anyone want to kill me? Was it something I did?"

Kevin didn't want to explain that all Kenny had ever done was exist.

He knew that Damien adored Kenny. It was easy to see from how he acted around Kenny, looking at him as if he were precious and treating him with the utmost love and respect. There was no doubt in his mind that Damien loved Kenny and would never hurt him in the future. That was what had been holding him back all this time from telling Kenny. He didn't want to break Kenny's heart and rip him away from the one person he truly loved in this shitty excuse of an afterlife, but he refused to sit back as Kenny continued to love his murderer.

"You didn't do anything, Kenny. Absolutely nothing. The man who killed you didn't want to hurt you. I'm not trying to justify what he did – there's nothing that can ever make this right – but I'm just trying to tell you that you weren't killed because of something you did. You weren't killed out of hate."

"_Then why was I fucking killed?!_" Kenny screamed, losing his calm. Kevin took a step back, alarmed by this sudden change. "Why was I ripped away from everything I loved and brought here? Why would whoever it was do this?" Kenny advanced upon him, wringing his hands in desperation and fury. There was a sickeningly haunted glint to his eyes and Kevin was scared that he had completely lost it. He waited until Kenny stopped, his breathing harsh and broken before he continued to speak.

"The person who killed you did it because they wanted to be near you. He was…infatuated with you and he resorted to this method in order to be closer to you."

"So it's a man?"

"Yeah. It's a guy," Kevin confirmed uncomfortably. Now they were getting dangerously close to the identity of the criminal. It was the topic that he had feared. Finding out that he had been murdered was bad enough – but by his own lover? By the one person he trusted in this godforsaken world? Fuck, Kevin wished he were anywhere else right now. Kenny interrupted his thoughts, voice low and defeated.

"Who is it?"

And there it was. The dreaded, inevitable question.

Kenny watched as Kevin lit his cigarette with quivering fingers and took a long, slow drag from it. When he exhaled, the smoke blurred his entire face before it cleared. He lifted the cigarette to take another drag but Kenny's patience reached its end. He jumped up, strode forward and grabbed the cigarette crushing it in his hand and ignoring the sting of the burn. He threw it onto the ground, eyes burning with fury at his brother's silence.

"Tell me who is fucking is, Kevin!" he ordered. "I want to know who fucking murdered me!" Kevin was silent, watching him with saddened eyes. He wanted this, enjoyed this knowing that Kenny's anger was much more preferable to the alternative once he learned the truth. "If you don't tell me, I swear to God I'll-"

"It was Damien. Damien's the one who killed you."

He had said it at last. His lips felt completely numb. The words echoed against the walls, louder than church bells, louder than the howling wind, louder than the screams of the deceased in the Underworld. They seemed to repeat in Kenny's mind, over and over again until it seemed like it would be the only thing he would hear for eternity. And maybe it was. He could not remember a time when he'd ever heard anything worse than what Kevin had just uttered.

He stumbled back as if punched, as if he were having a heart attack. He couldn't think, couldn't breathe. All he could do was focus on the thundering of his heart as it threatened to shatter under the pressure. He lifted his hand to grasp his chest, willing the pain to stop for a second so he could just think this over properly…just analyze the situation…

Fuck, he needed a drink. He needed something to alleviate the insane pressure of his thoughts and hurt. He felt as if someone – _Damien_ – had reached into his chest and forcefully ripped out his heart. The heart that he had so easily given to the first person who had asked here in Hell, the heart that he'd offered without hesitation from the moment Damien had responded to his kiss.

He barely noticed his brother approaching, a hand extended as if to pat his shoulder.

"Kenny, are you okay?"

"No," he wheezed. He shot Kevin a glare, commanding him to stay where he was. "No, I'm not fucking okay. How could I be okay? How could I be okay when you just told me that the boy I've been in lo- I mean, in a relationship with _murdered _me just a few months ago? I won't…I mean, I can't believe it." He gulped noisily.

"_Can't?_" Kevin's voice was sharp with worry and anger. Was Kenny going to completely ignore this? He understood denial, but completely ignoring the facts was foolish.

"I need proof, Kevin. You can't just drop a bombshell like that on me and expect me to…to just believe it! I need proof that he did this," Kenny rationalized. His eyes closed and he tried to slow down the beating of his heart. He needed to breathe. That was the key. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in.

Kevin rubbed his eyes, groaning inwardly. "I had a feeling you'd ask this. I knew it wasn't fair to simply ask you to accept what I've told you without giving you any evidence." He slammed his elbow into the bookcase, startling Kenny out of his daze. He watched with curiosity as a small drawer popped out of the side of the bookshelf. His brother reached in and pulled out what he could only describe as a "huge ass book" and examined it. He glanced at the cover before nodding in confirmation and walking over to his younger brother. Without a word he opened the book to the correct page and handed it to Kenny. The blond took it but didn't look at it. He couldn't bring himself to at the moment. He wasn't ready. Instead he asked:

"How do you know all this? How did you find out?"

"A source provided me with this information. They're in much closer contact with Damien and they came to tell me who had killed you and where I could find the evidence."

"Why would they tell you? What's in it for them?"

Kevin grimaced as his mind drifted back to that night and he realized that he had never asked why Vivian had revealed all this information to him. It hadn't been his top priority at the time. "If you find what you're looking for…does it really matter?" He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, grimacing at his younger brother whose head dropped down. His blue eyes shone with terror as he finally seemed to realize what he was holding and trembling, he traced the words on the page.

He could feel an intense weight on his shoulders, holding him down and he read sluggishly as if he were exhausted. His eyes burned with unshed tears but even so, he could make out the tiny lettering and worse, the scribbles on the margins in handwriting that he recognized as his lover's. He felt the slight indentation that had been left by the tip of the pen pressing against the page and swallowed his hesitation, reading further.

The words, though some of them were in a language he didn't recognize, were for the most part in legible English. There were some symbols and foreign phrases but they didn't take away from the gist of the spell. Basically he could see that this was a spell in order to erase the trail of magic for a temporary period of time so the caster was able to do as they wished without the threat of being detected. His throat went dry as his eyes caught onto a familiar symbol.

A pentagram – red and bright and so horrifically familiar that his sight went grey for a second. "Oh, God, this was in my room. This was on my ceiling." The symbol taunted him, flickering in and out of his vision with a teasing flash of light although he knew he was probably imagining it. It burned, charring at the edges before becoming normal again.

The moment the page blurred he realized that the tears had finally escaped and were trickling down his cheeks and onto the page. He sniffed, feeling something shatter as Kevin's words began to repeat themselves in his head and he wished, he _wished _for a moment that his brother had chosen to keep this from him, to let him be ignorant and back with Damien holding him and kissing him and-

His eyes rested upon a small phrase, identifying it as the spell to reveal the original caster. "Is this it? Is this the one that's going to show me that he did it?"

"Yeah, that's the one," Kevin said. "Look, Kenny, are you sure-"

"_Raviuscomoseprus_" Kenny read, his voice echoing against the walls unnaturally.

He had no time to prepare himself as his head was suddenly flooded, bombarded with memories and images. _Damien, lighting the candles and chanting. Reaching out and slicing the palm of his hands and letting the blood drip onto the pentagram. A bright red glow, a shrieking howl and hundreds of voices all amassing into a single note of pure power._ He screamed, clutching his head because the images fucking hurt and he had no choice but to watch._ Damien went into a trance, trying to stay focused and not be swayed by the power being offered, procured an image of Kenny, Kenny, Kenny and repeated his name constantly to keep his concentration. The temptation to continue, to gather more power began to grow and he was so eager to reach out and just take it_. Kenny fell to his knees, clenching his fists and slamming them into the ground.

"Kenny! What's happening? Are you okay?"

He could hear Kevin panicking and calling his name but he couldn't see him. Images were flashing behind his eyes and all he could see was Damien. _He placed his hand in the center of the pentagram, muttering the spell under his breath. Then he paused and repeated, louder this time. He repeated it once again, louder and louder until the whole room shook with the power, and the world seemed to tremble and shake. _Kenny began to sob, trying to get the images to stop because he didn't want to see this anymore but they just seemed to keep on coming.

"No, no, no, no," he gasped, trying to stand up but he couldn't. _The room was completely still and now it was time for him to seal the spell, to decide the fate of his victim – of his loved one – and he felt the pentagram burning, searing into the palm of his hand and he hesitated, suddenly realizing what he was about to do. _Kenny groaned, mumbling and crying and hoping against hope that Damien wouldn't say it, that he would just change the present and wipe this all away. _He breathed in, then closed his eyes, vividly imagining Kenny's beautiful face in his mind and it was so perfect and wonderful, he said "Kenny McCormick" and the pentagram hissed and there was a blast of light so red and bright that it fucking burned his eyes and somewhere on Earth a red pentagram appeared on the ceiling of Kenny McCormick's room and the boy started to toss and turn in his sleep, his temperature rising. _He shuddered, heaving dryly over the floor. His stomach was empty so instead he began coughing violently and his throat burned so badly.

His brother was holding him, hitting his back as he coughed but he couldn't do anything except watch as his younger brother suffered.

_The car appeared around the corner of the mountain and none of the passengers could see but He was sitting on the top, looking exhausted and reluctant and he muttered "I'm sorry, love. I wish there was another way." And he focused on a rock teetering loosely on the mountain, drawing up just enough power to push it over gently and it rolled down the mountain and landed on the windshield breaking it. The car screeched and turned and went down the mountain and he watched, eyes shining with grief and self-hatred as another car stopped and a black-haired boy ran out, screaming Kenny's name and Craig's name and he was followed by the redhead who was also screaming for Kenny and then-_

"_FUCK!_" The word burst through Kenny's lips and he jumped up. His head was suddenly clear – clearer than it had been all these months in Hell – and the visions had stopped. With trembling hands he sat back onto the bed and began to sob, collapsing forward and crossing his arms as if to protect himself. He was torn between so many emotions and feelings and at the moment he didn't know what to think because all he saw was Damien, casting the spell, tipping over that rock, _killing him, murdering him, ending his life_. "FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!" Enraged, he jumped forward, striding over to the bookshelf and sliding his hand behind the shelf.

With a push fueled by rage he tipped it over forcefully, screaming as he did so. The books scattered all over the floor and the side of the shelf broke off, but it wasn't enough. Instead of making him feel better he just became even more angered and he grabbed the remote control, crushing it in his hand. Kevin watched in shock as he swung it forward, sending it smashing into the television screen and shattering it completely. A well-aimed kick cracked it in half and he watched as it folded in on itself.

Kenny grabbed the game consoles and raised them over his head, howling as he slammed them into the ground, ripping them apart with animalistic fury. He ran to Damien's bed and picked up the baseball bat that he kept to defend himself. His next target was the computer, which he swept off the desk and then the desk itself, which earned an angry kick and a swing from the baseball bat.

"Kenny, stop. Please, just stop," Kevin pleaded weakly, regret filling his voice. Kenny smashed the heel of his shoe onto the remains of the computer, tears pouring down his face now.

"STOP?" he roared. "HE KILLED ME! HE FUCKING MURDERED ME AND YOU THINK THAT I SHOULD STOP?! _FUCK YOU!!_" To emphasize his point he grabbed the bat and began to beat the painting on the wall – the one he had often studied just to annoy his boyfriend. "HE KILLED ME! HE KILLED ME AND THEN PRETENDED TO LOVE ME!" He disappeared into the bathroom, still in a frenzy and Kevin heard the shattering of glass, followed by a bloodied Kenny running out and jumping onto the pool table.

He began to grab the billiard balls and throwing them with as much force as he could onto the ground. Each one landed with a sickening _crack_ and dented the wood, splintering and damaging it. With each one he threw, he seemed to get weaker and weaker until finally he hurled the last one against the wall and then stared down at his hands, realizing that he'd run out of weapons. Kevin watched sadly as his brother finally stopped, slowly dropping to his knees and then falling backwards until he was sitting. His eyes were puffy from crying and wide with hurt and shock, and each breath seemed to tear out of his throat with a cruel gasp.

For a few minutes only the sound of Kenny's tortured breathing could be heard. Kevin could barely move, too terrified by seeing his brother go through what he just had and torn between leaving him be and comforting him. He wasn't sure whether Kenny would want comfort from the person who had just told him the undesirable truth. But then, as he stepped back with this intention of leaving he heard Kenny whisper softly.

"Don't go. Please, don't leave me."

"Oh, Kenny," Kevin groaned, walking forward until he was in front of his hurting younger brother. He felt hollow inside from watching his brother break down emotionally and inside he felt terribly guilty. He found himself wondering whether it was the right decision to tell him after seeing this, but stopped himself. There was no point in that now. "I'm so, so goddamn sorry…" Kenny shook his head tearfully, barely able to form a coherent sentence.

"It's not…your fault," he gasped. "I'm glad you…glad you told me." He stared at the bloody cuts on his hands and the red liquid running down his skin. His eyes were glazed when he looked up. "Oh, God, Kevin. I…I let him _touch _me. I let him kiss me and touch me and _fuck _me and…oh God I made love to him and he _murdered _me." He found himself completely breathless and instead he fell forward into his brother's arms. "He comforted me and…and told me that he was there for me and all this…all this time…_he _was the one who fucking caused this!"

Kevin immediately grasped him tight, unwilling to let go and wanting to show his brother that he was there for him. He felt tears building up in his eyes but quickly squeezed his eyes shut. He had to be strong, had to help his brother. In his mind he wondered vaguely what Kenny was going to do now.

"I laughed with him and…told him my…_p-personal_ secrets…I just played into the hands of…of my murderer and I _believed _him when he s-said he loved me," Kenny wept, his body quaking from his sobbing. "I'm such a _fucking _fool…such a fool because I…_I told him I loved him too!" _At this he wailed and let go of Kevin, his forehead touching the rough surface of the pool table and his hands clenched into fists beneath him. He couldn't tell the difference between the physical and emotional pain he was feeling. All he could feel was pain and he wished he wasn't dead, because then he would ask Kevin to kill him right now.

He curled into a ball, rocking slightly and crying to himself while his brother, the only person he trusted now, stood with him. He didn't speak, only listened as Kenny mumbled "what have I done?" over and over again until it was the only thing he could seem to say.

After a few hours Kevin leant over and hugged him firmly, telling him gently to call if he needed anything. Then he left, casting one last look sadly at his younger, broken brother before leaving out the door.

Kenny didn't hear the sound of the door shutting; he was lost in a world of his own. All he could do was lay on the table and struggle to breath as he tried to collect his thoughts together. Everything was falling apart. He felt sick as he thought of Damien. Damien, who at the moment had no idea that he'd been discovered. Damien, who had professed his love for him and taken care of him. Damien, who had murdered him and ripped him away from his friends and family. Damien, who had sat with him and comforted him and acted oblivious, all the while knowing that he was the reason behind Kenny's pain.

And slowly, Kenny felt his sadness transform into a sickening hatred beyond anything he'd ever felt before. He gripped the edge of the table until his knuckles turned white and small cracks appeared in the dried blood on his fingers. Darkness crept into the edges of his vision and his bit his lip so hard it bled.

He had let Damien _touch_ him, _kiss _him, _fuck _him and he had loved Damien, completely unaware of Damien's role in his death and now…now he knew the truth behind Damien's lies. He was no longer going to play the blind fool.

He lay there in silence, waiting for his murderer to come home to him.


	12. Confrontation

**Disclaimers: **I don't own the South Park characters. I _do _own Adam, Vivian, Arrow, Marcus, Square Jaw, Snakebites and the drug Valexium.

**Notes: **Yay, we've passed the one year mark for CoM! Ahhh, I can't believe it's been so long and I'm still updating. This chapter took me a long, long time to write. I had months of exams, which sucked ass, and then I graduated from high school, which was great! So now I'm posting up a new chapter of CoM. I still haven't given up on this, and never will. I just love writing this too much, and I don't want to let down the people following this story. Anyway, have fun reading and please review!

Chapter Twelve

Confrontation

His room was not in the same state that he'd left it in. At first he didn't notice, throwing his jacket and keys onto his desk, only to stare in disbelief as said objects flopped onto the floor where the desk was now residing.

"What…" he blinked, not really sure how to react.

He then noticed a billiard ball buried into the ground only a few feet away from him. The shiny wooden planks were splintered and cracked, indicating that the ball had been thrown into the ground with a considerable amount of force. Looking around he noticed there were more that had been smashed into the floor and even one had managed to dent his wall next to the television. Or where the television used to be. Jaw slack with disbelief, his eyes traveled down to the hideous mess that had once been his television. Now it was a piteous heap of wires and plastic and metal that was beyond any form of repair, smashed into two pieces and hanging limply off the stand.

He switched on the lights, absorbing with complete incredulity the horrific chaos that had once been his room. Aside from the television and the floor, his bookshelf had toppled over and books had been scattered everywhere. His game consoles had been ripped to pieces and his computer had been beaten viciously.

Finally his eyes rested on the painting that had previously rested on his wall. Now it was in a sorry state, canvas shredded and frame splintered. The object that had damaged it was no mystery. He took note of the baseball bat that had been dropped carelessly next to the painting.

Panic overwhelmed him as the sudden realization that someone had broken in hit him. He whirled around, terrified at the prospect that Kenny had been in the room at the time and maybe even been hurt. _Fuck, what if he was unarmed and couldn't defend himself? What if they had guns? What if-_

"Kenny? Ke-"

_THWACK! _

He barely had time to protect his face from the massive object that came flying towards him. He stumbled backwards, cursing as it smacked into his arm and grazed the side of his head. It slammed against the wall behind him, falling to the ground. A quick glance revealed it to be a book. Before he could identify it he felt a presence in front of him and he turned, raising his fists to defend himself.

"Damien."

He found himself face to face with his boyfriend, whose fringe was covering his eyes enough so Damien could only see the bottom half of his face. He hesitated, unsure as to why Kenny had hurled this projectile at him. He could see tear tracks down his cheeks and felt his chest clench with fear.

He reached up, lifting Kenny's chin so he could get a clear look at his face. The blond boy's eyes were puffy and red from crying, rivers of tears dried on his skin. His gaze was empty, deadened and his bottom lip was slightly swollen from his having chewed on it so much. Damien reached up and gripped Kenny's shoulder, a cold wave of horror washing over his body as he realized that last time he'd seen him like this was when he'd died.

He pressed his lips to Kenny's, then drew back worriedly when there was no response. He lifted his hand, brushing his thumb against his cheek. "Kenny? Kenny, what's wrong? What happened? Did someone hurt you?" This sparked a response in the shorter boy, who blinked. His gaze lifted to meet Damien's and for a second a chill went down his spine. He wanted to grab Kenny and shake him, _beg _him to show some form of emotion but managed to contain himself.

"Yeah…yeah, someone hurt me," he said, his voice hoarse. Damien's skin crawled with fury.

"What happened? Are you okay?"

Kenny shook his head, shoulders trembling. He keened softly and almost pitched forward as his legs threatened to collapse under him. Damien caught him quickly, enfolding his smaller frame in his arms and gently sat him down on the edge of the bed. He kneeled in front of his boyfriend and clasped his hands firmly.

"I…I…oh God, oh God," Kenny sobbed. He struggled with his words, clenching his eyes shut. "I can't believe…I can't…"

"Shhh, shhh, calm down," he soothed. He stroked the side of the blond's face, watching as his breathing slowed and his head dropped, avoiding his lover's comforting look. "Don't be scared, I'm here for you." The change was so sudden he barely had time to process it. Kenny's head snapped up and his eyes, once lifeless, became alive with wrath. He held Damien's hand in a vise-like grip until he could almost hear his knuckles cracking under the pressure.

"You? _You?_"he snarled, his voice soft and deadly. He shoved the other back roughly onto the floor, displaying a surprising amount of strength. Damien fell onto the floor amidst a pile of splintered wood and glass. He winced as the edges dug into his skin painfully. "How dare you comfort me! _You're the reason I'm in Hell!"_

His statement was followed by a swift but effective punch to the face. Damien heard the impact more than felt it, and grunted as he went skidding back on the floor. His vision was momentarily swallowed in darkness and pain flared in his head. Dazedly he wondered if his cheekbone was broken but the dizziness faded almost immediately as he became aware of what had just happened. He watched, stunned, as Kenny stood up and approached him. Glass crunched under his feet as he neared, the look on his face completely murderous.

Damien struggled to sit up, then felt his hand brush against something. He cast it an insignificant glance, noticing that it was the book that had been thrown at him. This time he managed to recognize it for what it was. The thick, ancient cover and the worn out pages were all too familiar.

_Oh shit, shit, shit_, he thought, the chilling sensation of terror creeping from his center to the surface of his skin. His mind went into overdrive, thoughts swirling around his head until he felt he was going to explode from the sheer anxiety of what was happening.

Suddenly he was pushed back brusquely, hands gripping his collar until he could barely breathe. He felt soft lips brush against his ear, but unlike before this wasn't teasing or tempting. Instead of pleasure he felt nothing but sick anticipation at the hot breath against his skin and the hair tickling his jaw.

When Kenny spoke, it was a harsh whisper containing nothing but loathing. "Did you enjoy it, you _bastard_? Did you _enjoy_ manipulating me, lying to me, _pretending to love me_? Did it make you feel good inside when you watched me falling in love with someone who doesn't fucking exist?" Every word was like a knife stabbing into his heart, sharp and deep and targeting where it hurts the most. He gritted his teeth together, trying to maintain some form of control.

"That's not what happened."

"_SHUT UP!_" Kenny howled, slamming him into the ground. Damien groaned, arching his back from the pain. "You son of a bitch, you killed me! You fucking killed me! Why? _Why? _And worse, you forced me into being your friend by acting…acting fucking friendly and being _nice_ and caring. You told me you loved me and I believed you…fuck, I believed you…" He leaned forward, palms pressing into Damien's shoulders.

Damien sat up, forcing Kenny to slide onto his lap. His heart was beating so violently he was scared it would slam through his chest and his fingers trembled as he clutched onto his lover, as if his life depended on it. Urgently he kissed Kenny's neck, nipping at his skin and nuzzling into him. "Please, _please_…I wasn't lying - I love you, _I love you so much_." He was urged on by Kenny's moan as he nibbled on his earlobe gently.

"Stop it…_stop it!_" Kenny snapped, moving back until he was standing and glowering down at his boyfriend with the utmost revulsion. "_Don't touch me! Don't ever touch me again you sick bastard!" _

He backed away, as if disgusted by their contact. The look on his face was enough to make Damien's gut twist agonizingly and with difficulty he managed to stand. He stayed where he was, as if Kenny were a skittish animal ready to bolt at any second.

"Kenny, please hear me out. Let me explain."

"Explain? How could you possibly explain why you _murdered_ me?" Damien winced. "There's nothing, absolutely _nothing _you could say that would make me accept this. Believe me, I have sat and thought about every possible explanation that applies to this fucked up mess of a situation. But maybe you can come up with something original, so why don't you enlighten me?" His grin was sarcastic, mocking as he turned to the son of the Devil with an expectant look. Damien was like a deer caught in headlights, unable to move or speak or do anything except stand paralyzed in the face of oncoming danger.

He willed his body to move and as he spoke he could almost hear his jaw creaking in protest. "I did it…because I was in love with you and I wanted you here with me…"

The statement fell flat, sounding so painfully weak amidst the hurricane of rage and tension. There was no way for Damien to convey the mindless hours spent distancing himself from his own world in order to be closer to Kenny's world, the nights he'd been dreaming and obsessing over the hopelessness that had been his situation or the years he'd passed watching Kenny and slowly but surely falling into the unbreakable grasp of his love. He had never been particularly good with words, but not even the most poetic phrases could be pulled together to make Kenny understand the reasoning behind his actions.

He had not seen Kenny's passage into Hell as a death, but simply as a transition into another world – his own world. For someone who could so easily travel between the borders of Hell, Earth and Heaven, he didn't really have much of an understanding of the concept of death. Damien could see someone on Earth, and then still meet them after their demise. For him there was really no difference being alive or dead. All he saw was people closing their eyes before appearing in Hell, ready to enter another world. A world that was a shit hole, but still an existence.

It had been difficult for him to reason that maybe for someone like Kenny or the rest of humanity, there was a _vast _difference between being alive and being dead.

Kenny's laughter was harsh and strained, as if he hadn't laughed for years and was unused to the sensation. Tears trickled out the corner of his eyes and he wiped them away quickly. "You son of a bitch. You fucking asswipe. God, I don't think you can comprehend just how fucking _angry_ I am right now," he said. His laughter faded and he stared at Damien, clenching his fists so tightly that blood dripped down his knuckles. His whole body was quivering violently and Damien could tell that the thread of control was being pulled tight, at the very point of snapping. "How…dare you? _HOW DARE YOU?" _

Damien found himself pressed against the wall, under assault from wild punches and vigorous shaking as Kenny tried to hurt him as much as he possibly could in his enraged state. "_You murdered me! You took me away from my friends and family because of your own fucking selfish needs!" _Kenny howled. _"All you cared about was for yourself! You lied to me and manipulated me into falling in love with you! YOU USED ME YOU BASTARD YOU USED ME!" _His attack was powered by a sickened devastation experienced by one who had lost everything. The words were passionate yet devoid of human feeling. The hatred was beastly, animal-like and wrathful.

A particularly painful blow caught Damien on the side of his head, accompanied by a knee to his gut that forced him to curl up instinctively. The onslaught ended, leaving a bitter silence as he slowly slid to the ground. They were both breathing irregularly, one from exhaustion and the other from pain.

Kenny mumbled something indistinct under his breath, "…_hate…" _that made Damien's eyes widen.

"What?" He said, his breath coming out in quick gasps. "What did you say?"

"I said, I _hate _you. I hate you so much it hurts," Kenny said flatly. "I wish I'd never even met you." His eyes were filled with an intensity that seemed to carve a hole right through Damien's soul. The words were packed with so much loathing that Damien struggled to breathe, feeling as if his lungs were being crushed under some hideous weight. He lurched forward, arms outstretched to catch Kenny in his embrace. The other boy didn't struggle, but he didn't respond either, simply standing there stiffly.

He buried his nose in Kenny's hair, inhaling his scent and not really sure why but suddenly he felt the devastating possibility that he wouldn't have much chance to do that in the future. He gripped onto Kenny's shirt a lot tighter than was necessary, not allowing a single ray of light between them and ran a shaky hand through the blond hair that he'd played with so many times before.

He managed to choke out a few words, requiring a large amount of effort to form a coherent sentence. "Don't…don't _ever _say things like th-that. You don't mean it, you don't know what you're saying." There was no response. "Take it back." The command was pleading and came out as a pathetic whimper. He cringed at his own weakness but somehow the strength had just drained out of him and all he could do was hold onto the one thing he cared about. "_Please take it back…"_

"Never."

There was so much grief and hurt crammed into a single word that it was like a physical kick to his chest. He staggered backwards slightly, bowing his head to hide his eyes from Kenny. He heard him move to the side before walking towards the door. His steps were evenly paced and soft.

He heard the door open and this urged him to speak. "What are you going to do? You have nowhere to go, no one else to turn to." He heard a soft, hollow chuckle and became rigid, uncertain.

"I'm sure your father would be very interested in what you've been up to."

He slammed the door behind him and Damien was left trapped in a cage he had built with his very own hands.

00000

When Satan was angry, everyone knew about it. The ground didn't shake, the fires didn't flare to twice their size, the sea didn't hurl massive waves against the shores of Hell. There were no glaringly obvious signs to demonstrate that the Prince of Darkness was experiencing any sort of outstanding emotion. Everyone knew though, when Satan was angered. There was a strange undercurrent, a dull throb of _something _in the atmosphere that was subtle, but noticeable enough for every single being in Hell to twitch and look up questioningly.

At the moment, the anger in the room was so strong and so stifling that Kenny felt his heart pounding and his breath hitching, suffocated from the thick tension. He felt trapped in the sea of emotion that was his own and the Devil's and he found it difficult to distinguish which belonged to him.

The moment he had finished his story he had begun to regret it. Satan's expression had gone from mildly irritated – Kenny had interrupted his work – to enraged beyond all human emotion. Now he had stood and was staring out the window. He remained there for about ten minutes before finally saying something.

He spoke so softly that Kenny almost didn't hear him.

"So you're saying that my son…_my _son went behind my back, stole a rare book from an Ancient, performed Black Magic in order to hide himself, killed you and then lied about it all this time." It wasn't a question, simply a statement. Kenny could hear the current of fury in his voice. He nodded, before realizing that Satan couldn't see him.

"Yes…sir," he said. He wasn't sure how to address Satan.

"He dared to go against my will once, and then to defy me again by erasing the Tucker boy's name from the List. I have never had so much trouble from the boy." He reached up and rubbed his jaw, scowling in front of him. "It seems that even removing him from the throne does not deter him from causing problems. I don't have time for this."

The Prince of Darkness was considerably more formidable now than in the past. He was no longer the whiny pushover who allowed Saddam to walk all over him. There was no trace of the friendly demon who had welcomed Kenny into his home and encouraged him and his son to play together. Now he was a darkened, tainted shadow, a stain of evil that thrived on suffering and turmoil. He ruled Hell with an iron fist and a merciless state of mind that had been long buried and now resurfaced, more volatile and malicious than ever before.

Despite the numbness he was feeling, the strange lack of caring he was experiencing, he felt a shudder of fear run through every cell of his being and began to feel remorse for having exposed his now ex-lover. This new Satan would surely spare no sympathy, even for a blood relative as close as his son. That was, if he even had any sympathy to spare. Standing in front of him was a beast in the extreme, an intelligent savage.

"Who informed you of this?"

"My brother, Kevin. I don't know who told him. I…didn't ask." He refrained from mentioning that the reason he didn't ask was because he was too busy dealing with his heart breaking into what felt like a million shards, each one slicing him apart from the inside. Currently he could only feel a deep throb of pain – an aftershock that would last for eternity. "After I found out I confronted him. He admitted to it, said he did it because he loved me." He stopped himself, quickly wishing he had omitted that last part as Satan glanced at him curiously.

"He was never this rebellious before you came along." Kenny's eyes widened. The tone of Satan's voice was not accusing, but there was something he couldn't identify. "He's always been…a good kid. Until _now_." His mood seemed to darken visibly and Kenny fought the urge to step back. "_Damn_, he's more trouble than he's worth. _This won't go unpunished_."

The blond felt completely miserable by what he'd done. He refused to feel any concern for Damien, but deep inside he felt a small twinge of terror. He wanted revenge for what had happened, but he didn't want him to be _tortured_. That was a punishment he would wish upon no one. Especially not Damien.

"Sir…our deal?" he reminded, sounding about as confident as he felt. Satan's eyebrow quirked, surprised by Kenny's bravery. There were not many people who would demand something from the Prince of Darkness, no matter how small.

"Ah yes. As promised, for the identity of your murderer…" he trailed off, reaching into his drawer for a cell phone, flipping it open and searching for a contact. He watched in anticipation as Satan held the phone to his ear and began to speak:

"Marcus, get your ass over here. I have a task for you." With that he shut the phone and with a flick of his wrist, sent it flying into the mirror, which shattered into hundreds of pieces. The broken glass toppled to the floor, some of the pieces landing at Kenny's scuffed shoes. He stared at them, mesmerized by his broken reflection on the floor. He felt disconnected, apart, like the shards scattered on the floor.

A lump formed in his throat but he quickly forced it down, drawing in a shaky breath.

He was saved from his thoughts by an electric sizzling sound followed by the appearance of a skinny, twitchy young man with glasses. Kenny guessed he was in his late teens, but his face was drawn and pale making him seem older. As he watched, the man, quivering, looked around with a panicked expression.

"_Bleeding…blood…red blood_," he whispered, licking his lips and adjusting his glasses. He was holding a laptop limply at his side. The moment he caught sight of Satan he shrieked and jerked. The laptop clattered at Kenny's feet. He bent over to pick it up. "_DON'T! _Don't _touch_ the laptop. I'll make you _bleed_!"

"_Marcus!_" Satan snarled. Marcus jumped to attention immediately.

"Yes, your Royal Darkness! _Cut!_"

"I want you to take Mr. McCormick and execute The Procedure within the next four hours."

"The Procedure, sir?"

"You know how it works," he said. Marcus nodded and bowed while Kenny watched all this, feeling strangely different. "I'm warning you, that if you do what you did with Anderson, I will rip your spine out of your body and hang you with it." The threat was made casually, but Kenny had no doubt that he would do so if Marcus dared disobey him. The man twitched violently and shook his head, paling until he had no color left in his cheeks.

"Yes, your D-darkness," he stammered, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. He turned to leave, motioning for Kenny to follow. The blond felt unsure about leaving with this strange man, then decided that it was the lesser of two evils and turned to leave.

"Oh, and Marcus?"

"Yessir? _Ngh – bang, stab!_"

"Make sure you give him 'extra'. Compensation for everything's he's been through," Satan said. His eyes narrowed as he turned to face Kenny and the blond felt strangely left out of the conversation. The air of mystery around the current discussion was unpleasant. _Compensation? And what does he mean by extra? _He pushed the thought down, not prepared to ask. Hopefully he'd be able to find out what Satan was talking about in the future. And hopefully it would be something good. "Now leave. And tell no one of this."

They left the room, walking down the hall in silence. Now away from the stifling anger Kenny was free to dwell on his own thoughts, his mind, which he had managed to clear by focusing on the deal he had struck with Satan. But now that he had done it, he felt a twinge of remorse and guilt for what he had done.

Telling Satan the truth behind his death had crossed his mind a few times after his encounter with Kevin, but there had been no point in doing so without gaining something from it. Then somehow, in a fit of twisted bravery, he decided to change his own fate. He'd struck a deal with the Prince of Darkness, dangling the identity of his murder in exchange for something that _he _wanted. And somehow he hadn't been struck down in madness.

But now having revealed Damien's crime, he felt like a complete traitor. There was no doubt that Satan would not torture his child; he showed no outward love for his son but Kenny was absolutely certain that he cared about his wellbeing. But he was sure that he would be able to come up with a fitting, if harsh punishment.

Kenny didn't want to face Damien knowing that he had betrayed him, hurt him in a way that was beyond physical means. He was still furious at what had happened, but after months of living with the son of Satan he understood that Damien's perspective on death was a lot less tragic and permanent than those who weren't immortal.

But that didn't mean he was forgiven. At the moment the rage wasn't all consuming, but it was burrowed deep inside for the moment, crushed under the guilt of what he'd just done.

He stopped Marcus, who had been about to round the corner. He shot him a questioning look and Kenny pointed to the hall down the right.

"I want to go get my parka. I left it in…_his _room," he said dully. Without hesitation they walked towards Damien's room, the ominous silence weighing heavy on both of them. Once they reached the door he steeled himself, standing there for about three minutes before summoning up the courage to make a move.

He told Marcus to stay outside and turned the doorknob, entering the room. The moment he closed the door behind him he breathed in, preparing himself for what was about to take place.

"_Kenny_…" He turned to face his boyfriend, a tight feeling in his chest. "You came back…"

Damien's eyes were shadowed with guilt and hurt, his hair messed up from having tugged on it in his panic. His cheeks glistened from the rivers of tears on his skin. The room was still in a messed up state, objects strewn everywhere and even more chaos than when he'd left a few hours ago. His expression was desperate and before Kenny could move, he had jumped forward, grabbing Kenny by the shoulders and kissing him firmly on the lips.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, love," he whimpered, sliding an arm around Kenny's waist and burying his face into the crook of his shoulder. Kenny's lack of resistance seemed to prompt him to continue. "I love you. I _love you_ and I'm so goddamn sorry for what I did. Please don't hate me, please don't. I can't stand the thought of you hating me. I'll do anything to make up for what I did. Anything…" He sobbed into Kenny's shoulder, clutching his shirt tightly.

Kenny groaned, feeling his willpower crumble under Damien's pleading. All of his anger seemed to dissolve as Damien brushed his lips against his ear, licking it gently. He trailed down to Kenny's mouth, nibbling his lower lip, spurred by his moans.

"_Ngh…_stop. Don't…don't…" he mumbled half-heartedly.

"Please…I love you so much, Kenny. Don't leave me, don't leave me," Damien muttered. Kenny reached up and grasped his thick, black hair, allowing his emotions to completely take over his senses. He felt heat pooling in his groin and shuddered from pleasure, gasping. Damien took advantage of this to slip his tongue into Kenny's mouth, exploring roughly and pressing their bodies together. His lips were burning, his whole body was _burning_ with need. He was consumed with desire as he let Damien's tongue probe his mouth, let his hands explore his skin.

He stopped reluctantly, but wrapped his arms tightly around his love, wishing that he could erase everything that happened. "I love you too," he admitted, feeling tears escape the corners of his eyes. Damien took a shuddering breath, pulling back and stroking the side of Kenny's face. He smiled tentatively, unsurely. "But I can't stay here."

The smile dropped immediately.

"I can't stay in this house, I can't be near you. I have to go," he choked, forcing the words out between kiss-bruised lips.

"No."

"Yes. I'm leaving right now and I never want to see you again. I just came…to get my parka." He pushed Damien back, his arms feeling like water. There was no strength behind his action but the other boy stepped back anyway. The look of hurt shock on his face was enough for Kenny to feel like his heart had been ripped out. He tried to ignore the gut-wrenching pain in his stomach as he strode over to where his parka was and picked it up, gripping it so tightly his knuckles turned white.

"Leave it." The voice was harsh, pained. "Leave the parka…" Kenny bit his lip, clenching his eyes shut as Damien's voice broke and he gasped harshly, obviously trying to hold in his sobs. He dropped the piece of clothing back onto the floor, groaning and putting his head in his hands.

"Fuck, this is so _hard_. But I can't…I can't be with you anymore. You _murdered _me and _lied _to me and I can't stand it." He faced Damien, reaching up and touching his lips, trying to revel in the last moments he would have with this man who'd helped him discover true love for the first time. He didn't want to let go, didn't want to leave but he could no longer stay here. He couldn't forgive him for what he'd done. "I don't want to hurt you, but I can't want to be with you anymore. I can't forgive you. So I guess that this is goodbye then."

"Kenny, please-"

"No. It's over." The words were like a physical punch as Damien hunched over, breathing hoarse and hands clutching his shirt. He shook his head in disbelief as reality seemed to hit him with an unspeakable force. He willed his legs to move and passed Damien, continuing towards the door.

He heard a soft cough and the creak of the door opening. Marcus had obviously gotten tired of waiting. He cleared his throat and Kenny winced at the rough sound, feeling strangely sensitive to noise. _Maybe it's because my head is pounding and my ears are ringing so badly_, he thought numbly. Damien made a noise of terror.

"Marcus…no…he's not here because…" he glanced desperately from Kenny to Marcus. The older boy nodded jerkily in confirmation. "No, Kenny. You can't…"

"Goodbye, Damien." He was no longer facing the son of the Devil, his eyes fixed upon a spot in the floor. He couldn't bring himself to look up and instead concentrated on walking out the door. Marcus closed it and caught up to him, allowing the silence to remain for a few minutes. He did not mention the tears running down Kenny's face, or his trembling form. Instead he simply directed him, stating that he needed to set up his computer before they began.

Kenny nodded, barely hearing anything through his haze of misery. His ears were still ringing and his skin felt cold. It reminded him of his former source of warmth and he felt his body jolt in reaction to his thoughts, but then a wave of wretchedness embraced him and he couldn't remember the last time he had felt so painfully, so despairingly _lonely_.

00000

He could only go see his son about an hour after being told the truth. He had had to call his men off the search for the culprit – without mentioning who it had been, of course. It would be expected that the person who had committed the crime of prematurely killing someone, whether demon or human, would be skinned, roasted over a slow fire and thrown into a pit of broken glass all the while experiencing a heightened sensitivity bestowed magically by the Torturers. Or something to that effect. It wasn't a fate that he wished upon Damien, but didn't want to appear weak in front of his subordinates.

He decided that he would pin the blame on some poor, unsuspecting soul and sentence that person to torture. They would also have to be blamed for stealing the magical book belonging to a very powerful Ancient. He had then spent some time informing the Ancient that his book would be restored to him and ensuring him that the criminal would not go unpunished and that once he was finished with his own punishment, he would hand the soul over to the Ancient.

That was also not a fate he wished for his son, angry as he was at his current lack of respect.

He strode down the hall, reaching the pitch-black door within seconds. Unlike the years before, when he had timidly knocked on the door, he slammed it open. The impact nearly caused the door to swing off its hinges and then vibrate, the sound echoing against the walls.

The reaction this caused was immediate. The curled form on the bed whirled around, eyes wide with hope and words formed on the boy's lips, "Kenny-", until he caught sight of his guest and visibly wilted, hunching back and flopping back down onto the bed. The sheets had been kicked away messily and he was clutching what looked like an orange jacket to his chest. He was twisting the drawstring of the hood anxiously between his fingers. "What do you want?" He mumbled this, voice muffled by the jacket. Satan ignored the rude tone and sat on the bed. It sank under his tremendous weight but held fast.

"I don't think I need to tell you how disappointed and furious I am with you," he began, keeping his voice neutral. Damien clenched his eyes shut, burying his face into the jacket and remaining silent. There was nothing he _could _say. "You've defied me. Not once, but twice. You stole from an Ancient, reaped a soul prematurely, lied about it and then continued to defy me by removing the name of another on The List. And why? For some…_boy_." His voice turned harsh, the tone he used for his subordinates when they angered him.

A flinch at the venom in his tone. "He's not just some boy." He could see the spark of defiance in his voice and the burst of annoyance that followed his comment. It was short-lived and Damien went back to his lifeless demeanor.

"Nevertheless, you deliberately disobeyed my orders and the Laws of the Underworld. My ruling has always dealt with…criminals using torture methods. I believe you remember what happened with the Stoffel Brothers." This produced a noticeable reaction. Damien jerked out of his stupor and stared at him, eyes wide with naked fear at the mention of the two men that Satan had branded traitors after an attempt to overthrow him. Their humiliation had been very sickening and very public. And Damien had had a front row seat as an informal lesson on how to deal with lawbreakers.

Needless to say, it was not obviously something he desired to experience. Satan put up a hand to calm his fears. "As my son, I cannot allow this to happen. Instead you will be stripped of all privileges given to you. All the men under your command now answer to only me. You no longer have power over anyone. Your account will be frozen and for the next six months you will have no money to spend. You will not be allowed to leave the borders of Hell without my permission. You will remain in this house for three months with no contact with anyone outside these walls. You will not use your powers without my say so. Is that clear?"

Damien's eyes flickered towards him and he nodded. Some life seemed to have sparked inside of him at these words and he shifted so he was facing Satan, dull eyes locking onto savage ones.

"Consider yourself lucky you aren't suffering worse punishment for what you have done. I have told no one of your crimes, and it would be wise that you say nothing too. I'm the Ruler of Hell, but if my men were to hear of how little you have paid for what you have done there would be bitterness in the ranks and I am not able to watch over you all the time."

He stood up, finished with what he had to say. He surveyed the room without comment, taking note of all the broken furniture and damaged walls. He wasn't sure whether it was Damien or Kenny who had caused this damage, but it was certainly the product of fury and if he had to hazard a guess, he would say that it was the blond-haired boy who had caused this chaos. He'd caused nothing _but _chaos since his arrival.

He wondered what kind of person the McCormick boy was, to have his son so tangled up in a web of deception and agony and love. He'd never seen someone have such an effect on his son and he felt vaguely curious as to how he had managed to get Damien so hooked.

_I'm not sure if this is healthy,_ he thought with a hint of amusement. After all, it wasn't as if Damien could die. And after years of being exposed to so many sickening personalities, the boy had developed a strange resilience to all things that could hurt him. _Except for love, apparently. Nothing can prepare a person for that. _

Feeling a strange sort of fondness he lifted a massive, red hand and placed it affectionately on Damien's head. His son raised shadowed eyes to him, showing a hint of surprise at this action. After a few seconds of silence, his hand traveled down to Damien's shirt and he clutched it tightly. Not enough to restrict his breathing but enough to emphasize the point he was going to make next.

"I swear to all that is unholy, _boy_, that if you dare cross me again I won't be so lenient with my punishment. I'll string you up by your intestines in front of everybody, if that's what it takes to make you stop defying me," he snarled. The threat was real enough, but there was no real venom behind his voice. He didn't truly believe that Damien would continue to go behind his back after all that had happened.

He turned to leave when Damien's voice stopped him.

"Have you ever…felt like this…sir?" His voice was scratchy and hoarse, indicating that he had been crying for quite a while before Satan arrived. The way he addressed his father was the way he had always done after the Devil's transformation. He hadn't suggested it but he'd never said anything to discourage him from using it. Now though, it sounded strangely inappropriate and out-of-place.

He paused, uncertain of how to answer such a question. Any other time he would have slapped his son for asking such a personal question. If there was one thing that Satan could not stand, it was a question about his love life. Damien knew not to ask, considering he was aware of what had triggered Satan's change into a ruthless tyrant. But at the moment he couldn't bring himself to muster up any anger and instead just nodded.

"Yes," he confessed. "But it was a long time ago." He continued towards the door, stepping over the clothes strewn on the ground. "I'll send the maids in to clean this mess up tomorrow." And with that he was gone, turning off the lights and closing the door behind him. For the third time, Damien was left alone in his room.

He made no noise once the door had been shut, just curled up even more around the parka that was the only real thing he had left. Every once in a while he inhaled the lovely scent that reminded him so much of…_Kenny_. _Fuck_, he thought, squeezing his eyes shut. Once again he felt that hideous ache that had been plaguing him since the hours that Kenny had left. It bubbled up inside him with an unimaginable speed and he could almost feel his head exploding from the sheer agony.

His thoughts were consciously being pushed down to the back of his mind as he tried to focus completely on the darkness and the smell of Kenny's parka. It was a lovely, unique scent – strangely clean and smelling of soap. The blond had always taken care of his orange parka – he'd treasured it above all other material possessions. Even when he had been poor, he'd told Damien, he had made sure to wash it regularly.

Now Damien held it like it was the most precious thing in the world, intent on keeping it as close to him as possible. Feeling the tears slowly build in the corners of his eyes, he breathed in the scent of the parka once more and stayed still until he finally fell asleep. He was so deeply trapped in his dreams that he didn't feel the electric jolt that went through everybody indicating that 'The Procedure' had taken place.

A few minutes after Damien had fallen asleep, Marcus shut down his computer, satisfied that he had done his job correctly. He motioned to Vivian to pick up her shovel and she did so, signaling that she was ready to go.

At that very moment on Earth, in South Park Cemetery that was located on the outskirts of the small town, Kenny McCormick awoke in his coffin.

He took one look around, noting that he was in complete darkness. It took less than a second to realize that he was trapped in his own grave.

"Oh…_shit_."


	13. What Happened to Anderson

**Disclaimers: **I don't own the South Park characters. I _do _own Adam, Vivian, Arrow, Marcus, Square Jaw, Snakebites and the drug Valexium.

**Notes: **Okay, a _really _long wait and I'm so sorry about that. I promise that I still am working on it, but the updates are just getting slower and slower. Things this summer have been all stressed what with applying for university and everything but I managed to drag myself to the computer and type this out. I'll try to get the next one up sooner.

Reviews are greatly appreciated!

Chapter Thirteen

What happened to Anderson

He had ten minutes left. It usually took about twenty minutes for them to be fully transferred back into their bodies, then another twenty minutes for their bodies to go through the delicate process of un-decaying and being reformed until they were whole. He had very little experience with this, considering it happened so rarely, but he knew enough to guess that in about ten minutes, the boy would take his first breath and his heart would begin pumping blood around his body once again.

If he were a decent person, he would have begun to dig the moment he had arrived on Earth so as to release the boy from his confinement immediately and minimize his suffering.

Instead, Marcus leaned back against a gravestone, his twitches down to a bare minimum and his eyes half-closed. It was an unusual expression on his face, but his partner wasn't complaining. She was being supported by her shovel and had taken to looking at the sky. It was only normal, considering she hadn't seen the stars since her death. But her look wasn't one of nostalgia. There was a hint of admiration, but also another strange look, one that he couldn't place.

"There aren't any stars in Hell," she stated. "There's just fire and darkness all around our city, no matter where you go. I like it better down there, I think. Suits my preferences. What do you think?"

"I don't care one way or the other. It's not like I spend that much time outside," he mumbled. He sounded narcotized, drugged into relaxation and she stared at him, slightly confused.

"Why are you so calm?"

"I was more like this…when I was alive. My fits usually surfaced only when I was in the process of committing a crime. Sadly, in Hell I seem to be on a 24/7 major crime spree and feeling a lot more pressure than I've ever felt on Earth. The closer we get to accomplishing…our goal, the worse I get. It'll improve once it's all over."

"I sure as hell hope so. You're irritating when you freak out. Makes me wish you could be alive, just so I can kill you."

"We should start digging in a few minutes."

He pushed his glasses up lazily and glanced at his watch. They had eight minutes left. He wished it would pass a little faster; it felt like breathing oxygen again was having some eerie calming effect on his brain. He almost felt a sensation of being high, or that was as close as he could describe it. It was unnerving.

Unlike some people he still had the habit of breathing. Sure, there was no oxygen in Hell, but it was something he just did. Vivian, on the other hand, had stopped breathing for the most part. Once in a while she would gasp for breath after some physical strain, then stop when she realized it caused her no relief.

"You know in seven days, I'll be eighty-four years old. It will be seventy one years after my burial. If you could call it a burial, that is. I'm pretty sure my brother threw my body into a ditch outside the city. Not that it matters…where you're buried. Where did they bury you?"

"No idea. I had an idea, once, but after forty years of not acknowledging my past life, I guess the memories fade."

"Forty years? Psh, that's not so long. That makes you, what, sixty one?"

"Fifty-eight, actually. Though sometimes I still feel like I haven't aged a day," he answered. "_Bloooooooooood." _He began to repeat the same word with a youthful demeanor, in an eerily sing-song voice. He glanced at his watch. Four minutes left. He would take his time to dig, draw it out as long as possible without actually killing the boy all over again. He wished that he were able to see inside that coffin when Kenny woke up, only to realize that he had no way out.

"Should we start digging now?"

"Nah. We'll start when The Procedure is finished. Then he'll be all nice and awake and unable to breathe for a little bit."

"You sadist. You want to make him suffer even more than he already is? He's already lost the love of his life and you can't stop yourself from gaining a little entertainment out of this whole situation. You really are suited for Hell," she said. Despite saying all of this, she put her shovel down and flopped onto the dirt.

"What would you know about love? _Slaaaaash,_" he retorted, his tics resurfacing ever so slightly.

"I've never experienced it personally, but I've seen those two together and just from that I know what love is. Or at least, it's what _most _people would consider to be love. Just look at the Brat, look at what he's done. He defied _Satan _for his boyfriend…_twice_. Only a love struck fool would do such a thing, no matter the consequences. And Kenny…well, he's been betrayed. But considering how badly he reacted, I would say that he would only have gone this far if the betrayal was by someone who truly broke his heart," she said wisely. The she sighed, overcome by the romance.

"I don't think that's what love is," he replied.

"Oh yeah? Then enlighten me, Master. What did _you_ do when you were in love?"

He thought carefully for a second, index finger tapping against his chin. "I fell in love twice while I was alive. The second time was when I died; she killed me two months after our relationship when she discovered my corpse stash. Can't really blame her for that, so no hard feelings there. But…the first time I fell in love, I was fifteen. She was the daughter of my friend's neighbor and when I saw her, I knew I had to have her. So I borrowed my dad's car, ran over her until she was dead and spent the next two years preserving her body."

His anecdote was met with a flat silence. Finally, after about a minute of quiet, Vivian spoke:

"Jesus, why the hell do I even hang around with you?"

He didn't even want to think about the answer to that question.

"Why does this even bother you? Don't pretend you're some innocent victim in everything you've done. In fact, you should be the one suggesting we leave him in the coffin."

"I don't like to interfere with love. Call me a sap, but I think that love is the most powerful thing in the world. And to hurt someone who's already been a victim to the trials of love is to be the lowest form of a human being. It's one of my rules. And the poor kid here has already had his heart broken, I'm not going to prolong his suffering."

She picked up her shovel and walked over to the headstone with Kenny McCormick's name on it. She began to dig, turning her back on him and ignoring his whines of protest.

"What the hell? Come on, _gruuuuesome, _we still have one more minute left until the process is over and he's fully awake. It's no fun if we let him out immediately; he won't be scared enough!"

"Enough, Marcus. Haven't you learned your lesson after what happened with Anderson? Pull yourself together, dipshit, and help me dig."

Reluctantly he trudged over to where he was, twitching slightly from anger, and began to dig with her. Their pace was slow, rhythmic as neither of them was in that much of a hurry. There was only the sound of the metal hitting the solid earth and the spray of dirt being flung onto the ground. Sometimes the wind howled, but neither of them gave any indication that they were tiring. Once they had almost reached the end Vivian stated that she could hear something.

It was a soft thudding sound, and Marcus giggled excitedly. "He's _awaaaaake_."

If anything, their pace slowed slightly and finally, once the whole coffin was uncovered, Vivian threw the shovel behind her. Marcus did the same and they both studied the coffin, ignoring the desperate, muffled yelling and slamming against the wood.

The lid wasn't one of those that were cut in half, so the top half could be opened while the bottom half remain closed. It was in one piece so each of them had to dig their feet into the mud on the side and step off of the lid before finally reaching down and pulling the lid off simultaneously.

Neither of them was prepared when the boy scrambled up and flung himself violently out of the coffin, hacking and gasping for breath and displaying an incredible amount of strength for someone who had just risen from the dead. He somehow managed to leap out of the grave before his legs gave out and he scrabbled over the grass, heaving and choking until finally, _finally_ he sucked in a huge amount of air and began to breath properly.

The blond boy rolled onto his back, eyes closed as the focused on the pure, simple, intoxicating act of breathing. Just like Vivian and Marcus, he was being drugged by the feeling of the air traveling into his lungs, something he hadn't felt in a while. It was pure ecstasy, and while Marcus and Vivian closed the coffin and began to shovel the earth back into the hole, he remained lying on the ground, simply breathing and staring at the stars in wonder.

When they were finished, it looked as if no one had ever been there in the first place. Marcus rubbed the dirt onto his pants, wincing as his blisters pressed against the rough material.

Kenny looked at them, disheveled and covered in dirt. The second-hand tuxedo that he'd been buried in was wrinkled and filthy and his hair was completely in disarray. But what really struck them was the deathly glare he was shooting in Marcus' direction and before they could react he had pounced, reaching for his neck with outstretched hands.

"_MOTHERFUCKER! You-gah-couldn't dug me-BEFORE-you revived-asshole?_" Kenny howled, clawing at his face. "_Purpose! Purpose! I fucking-ngh-did know! You son-ack-bitch bastard! GAH!" _His words were barely more than gibberish.

Before Vivian could haul him off, he stopped, faltered for a second, and then passed out onto the ground. Marcus looked up, his face bleeding from the long cuts and a bruise forming on his forehead. She glanced at him, before laughing.

"You _so _deserved that."

00000

The fire was crackling softly, but he shied away from it and instead hugged the blanket closer to him as the chill seemed to intensify. At the moment he wasn't feeling particularly fond of fire and tried to minimize contact with it. But it was too cold to be stubborn and after a while he reluctantly leaned forward and put out his hands near the flickering flames.

The two people who had dug him out were chatting to each other in soft voices and although he could hear them, his brain was currently having difficulty processing what they were saying. At the moment he was still reeling from the process and according to the two, it would take a few hours before he was fully recovered. He could speak – his verbal attack on Marcus proved that – but it didn't really occur to him what he was saying and therefore most of it didn't make sense. He just couldn't pull the proper words out of his head.

"…could mean trouble for us. This turn of events could either break Damien completely or make him even stronger. It would benefit us if it were the first, but if he goes ape shit, it could completely ruin our plans," Vivian was saying.

"I'm sure no matter what he does, we'll still be able to follow it through. Arrow's thought a lot about this. _Uugh_."

"You all right?"

"Yeah, my face hurts. Too much _blooooood_."

"I thought you liked blood."

"Not my own."

None of it made sense to Kenny. He knew that he was supposed to understand what they were saying, but it was near impossible to pair meanings with the words they were saying and although he tried, it was all eventually just lost in his head. The words floated away and he was left with a blank mind.

For the next few hours he simply sat there, trying to stay warm. Even though none of them spoke, he didn't think that the other two were bored. As his mental processes slowly returned to them he managed to deduce that the expressions on their faces were that of nostalgia. They must have been in Hell for a very long time. Being here must be a rare occasion for them.

He looked down, tugging at the buttoned shirt weakly. Vivian had thrown him a hideous yellow jacket, to shield him from the cold. He had discarded the blazer and was wearing it over his shirt, which looked strange but was the least of his worries. He missed his orange parka, but that was currently with Damien.

"Clock," he said. The other two glanced at him, confused. "Watch. What clock?" Frustrated, he motioned to Marcus' watch.

"It's four in the morning," Marcus said, comprehension dawning on his face.

"Good, you're recovering. At least you're reaching for words that are related to what you want. Do you understand what I'm saying?" Vivian asked, keeping her voice soft. They had not spoken too loudly to him and he understood why after Marcus had accidentally dropped his shovel against his headstone and the sound had made him feel like someone was shredding his organs and he had screeched enough to make the other two jump.

He nodded, feeling strangely light-headed and awake. His body was acclimatizing and he wasn't feeling cold anymore and his eyes were adjusting to the scenery around him. Not that it was very pleasant, being in a graveyard.

"Under…stand," he said slowly. It was like a physical effort to pull the word out of his mind. "Want house go. _Ugh_. Stan's. Walk short. Short…on foot."

The two glanced at each other, slightly puzzled.

Kenny decided not to say anything until he was able to fully vocalize his thoughts. After another two hours Marcus finally announced that he was pretty much back to normal, except for his extra sensitive senses. He flashed a light in Kenny's eye, which caused him to howl and jump back, thrashing from the pain.

While they were unpacking a strange device and setting it up, Marcus stated:

"You're damn lucky I even dug you out so early. For most of them I leave them there until they're practically dead again and get brain damage from lack of oxygen," he admitted. Kenny stared at him with unparalleled horror. "It twists the deal they made with Satan, but he's the Ruler of Hell. Most of them blackmail him into doing this, so he brings them back to life and does his part of the deal, but what happens after that isn't his problem so I…have my little entertainment. It's fun to hear them scream…"

Vivian scoffed, setting the device onto the ground. "Yeah, until Anderson came along and you left it a little too late. The poor bastard died after that and went to Heaven. Not unlikely considering he was only in Hell by mistake. As revenge he decided to trade some valuable information to God about Satan breaking some of the universal rules that even him and God have to follow, and it got you in shit loads of trouble." She barked with sadistic laughter.

"Eh, it was worth hearing him scream. _Anyway_, I need you to stand still while I do this," Marcus said, brandishing what looked like a massive needle attached to the device. Before Kenny could say anything the twitchy bastard thrust the needle dead center between his ribs. There was no pain – it was too sudden – before a strange jolt forced his body to spasm and sent him sprawling to the ground. He yelped, landing hard on the dirt and feeling physical hurt shoot through him. Marcus pulled the needle out without a word and dropped it onto the ground.

"What the hell?" Kenny snapped, glaring at him. "That fucking hurt, you asshole!" His body was throbbing from the spasm. Thanks to his enhanced sensitivity, his body wasn't dealing well with pain – it seemed to have been augmented by ten times. "What was that even for?"

"That was the 'extra' that Satan wanted me to give you. The compensation for all the shit you've been through since you died," he said mysteriously. "I would tell you what it was, but it's more fun to see you figure it out yourself."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Kenny snarled, feeling dizzy and nauseous. He pulled himself to his feet, swaying violently.

Marcus twitched and turned his back, opening his laptop and blatantly ignoring the blond. Kenny didn't have much time to process what was happening before Marcus slammed his finger onto the 'Enter' key. The two of them began to fade slowly.

"H-hey. Where are you going?" he called out.

"Our job is done," was the answer he received before the two fading figures disappeared with a soft '_hiss_'. This left Kenny completely alone in the cemetery, with the sun's rays peeking over the horizon. It happened so quickly that he didn't even have time to process what was happening.

He stood there, staring blankly at the spot where the two Hell dwellers had been. The spot where he had been buried in looked strangely untouched, as if they had never been there in the first place. He couldn't move for a few minutes, feeling out-of-place. All he could hear was a soft buzzing around him and although his limbs were shaky, they still managed to support him. He took an experimental step forward and wobbled, holding out his arms to grab onto someone.

There was nobody there to catch him. Instead his hands met with air as he moved forward and he stumbled, gasping for breath. In a zombie-like daze he walked out of the cemetery, squinting as the sun began to rise and the light stung his eyes. He staggered in the direction of Stan's house, which was the one closest to the cemetery.

On the way a few cars passed by him and the sound wasn't too bothersome, except when one person honked unexpectedly and he had to jump into an alleyway, covering his ears and groaning. The sounds were still too sharp, too fresh. The pressure when he touched something was increased by ten times and when he accidentally grazed his knuckles against the wall he could have screamed from the sheer agony. The only thing that stopped him was that there were now a few people on the streets and he didn't want to draw any attention to himself.

Then again, when he looked down he realized he was wearing a dirty, mud-covered tuxedo and a bright yellow jacket. He couldn't have looked more conspicuous if he had tried. People were glancing at him strangely and he even saw a flicker of surprised recognition in some of their eyes, but he quickly moved past before they could get a look at his face. He had pulled his hood over his head to hide his identity, but the stupid jacket wasn't exactly inconspicuous. He almost wished he had kept the jacket from his tuxedo.

When he finally reached Stan's house he felt clear-headed and awake, as if he'd just woken from a long and refreshing sleep. He stood in front of the door for as long as possible.

He didn't want to go inside. He knew why – because that would make it final.

Once his friends saw he was back, then it meant he would be back permanently. It would solidify his existence back in this world again, back in the land of the living. It meant that he was here, that this had happened. That he'd betrayed Damien.

_I wonder what he's doing now_, he wondered numbly. Quickly he repressed any more of those thoughts and forced himself to climb the steps and ring the doorbell. He wanted to get through this without thinking about everything he left behind.

It took a few minutes of impatient waiting before finally Randy Marsh opened the door, yawning and looking incredibly tired. He stopped, blinking stupidly as he realized who had rung the doorbell. Kenny stared back at him casually, as if this weren't an unusual occurrence. As if he hadn't just risen from the dead. And Randy just stared back, too tired to truly process what was happening.

"Hey, you're Stan's little friend. The dead one, right?" he questioned wearily.

"Yes, Mr. Marsh. That's me," he replied. "I'm…not dead anymore. I came back, like I usually do. Just a little late. Is Stan here?"

It took another few seconds before Randy's eyes widened and he began to laugh hysterically. "Ha…ahaha…HAHAHAHHA!" Kenny stepped back in alarm, unsure as to whether Stan's Dad had finally lost it. Maybe in the few months he'd been gone, Randy had gone crazy or had gotten hooked on drugs. Before he could contemplate this further, the man turned around and sprinted away from the door, leaving the blond standing in the doorway.

"Hey! Hey, Sharon! Hey _Sharon!_ Guess what? Kenny's back!" Randy cried, running upstairs gleefully. "I told you so! I told you he'd come back! Didn't I tell you? Hey, _Sharon_!"

He disappeared up the stairs and Kenny raised an eyebrow. He'd learned long ago that Randy Marsh always acted like an immature child, even when completely sober. It was strangely comforting to know that he hadn't changed. It made things more familiar.

A sleepy Stan appeared at the top of the stairs, clad in pajamas and his blue hat with the red puffball. "Whuzgoin'on?" He rubbed his eyes blearily, trudging down the stairs. At that second Kenny felt a rush of nostalgia and familiarity, one so powerful that he couldn't help the smile that graced his lips when he saw one of his closest friends glance up at him.

Unlike Randy, Stan immediately became aware of whom was standing at the door and paused, emitting a strange choking sound. He pointed at Kenny, gasping for breath and spluttering his name.

"Yeah, it's me," he said, smirking as his friend desperately tried to find his voice. "I'm back, like always. No need to choke on your own joy." His voice cracked slightly, but he coughed to hide it. Stan stopped trying to talk and breathed in deeply, calming down slowly and when he was finally finished with his fit, he opened his eyes. The two of them stared at each other for a moment. Then Kenny walked forward and pulled Stan into a brotherly hug. "Sorry I made you guys worry about me." He grasped Stan's pajamas, breathing in his scent and choking back a sob when the familiar smell of soap and apples invaded his nose. He wanted to cling onto him and never let go.

They separated after a few moments. "Dude, this is pretty fucked up right here," Stan said, smiling shakily. He was still looking at Kenny as if he might disappear any second. "We all thought…you know…'cause you hadn't died for two years. We all figured that this time was for real. I never thought that you would…come back. Was it like before, when you just came back like…just like that?"

"Not exactly…" he muttered, his good mood diminishing slightly. "I…kind of made it happen this time. Had to strike a deal with Satan in order to get myself back here. It's a…long story and I'm not up for telling it twice. Think you could call the others?" He was eager to see Kyle and god forbid even Cartman.

"Yeah, yeah I'll call them right away. Do you want something to eat or drink?"

"Fuck, yeah! I'm dying for some alcohol and a hamburger. But I'll settle for hot chocolate and leftovers if you've got any," he said, suddenly realizing how hungry he was. As if on cue, his stomach grumbled loudly. They both laughed and walked into the kitchen. Stan switched the light on and began to rummage through the fridge, searching for something edible.

Finally he took out some lasagna and shoved it in the microwave. Kenny sat on the chair as his friend fixed him a hot chocolate. When he attempted to help he was pushed away, with Stan insisting that he do it. When the microwave beeped loudly, Kenny yelped, shocked by the sudden noise.

"What's wrong, dude?"

"_Ahhh_…too loud," he groaned. "My body's still pretty sensitive to noise and pain, so don't make any sudden sounds." Stan took the lasagna and put the plate on the table. Kenny greedily began to devour the food without restraint, savoring the taste as much as he could. It felt like he hadn't eaten real food in ages. It was different to the food in Hell. It tasted better, richer, like he really truly needed the nourishment. In Hell, eating had always been a habit but it had never been necessary for survival.

"Fuck, this is so weird, man. Before, none of us would've blinked twice if you'd turned up on our doorstep after being crushed by a piano or something. But now…well I guess I thought this was permanent. We all thought you weren't coming back, which is why we had that funeral and everyone was…pretty beat up about it," Stan said. "I guess after two years of not-dying we all forgot that you came back."

"I wasn't…supposed to return. It _was _permanent, but things happened and I…decided to come back," Kenny replied. An image of a familiar black-haired boy flashed in his mind and he tensed momentarily, feeling a sharp pain in his chest. He cleared his throat and turned away as Stan went to go get the mug for the milk.

There was a long pause in which the two of them slipped into a comfortable silence. Each of them was so caught up in their own thoughts, that when the quiet was broken they both yelped. The sound of the mug shattering against the tiled floor nearly gave Kenny a heart attack and he jumped, turning his head to frown at Stan and admonish him for the loud noise. He _had _warned him after all. But the sight of Stan's pale, shocked face made him stop.

"You okay, dude? I thought we were over the whole resurrection thing. I know it's surprising but it _has _happened before," he said irritably, rubbing his temples.

Stan approached him slowly, reaching out and picking of a piece of dirt from his jacket. "You're…muddy. And your wearing the…the tux you were buried in," he mumbled in disbelief. "Jesus Christ, Kenny, did you…"

"Wake up in my own grave? Yeah, no shit," Kenny said bitterly. "It's a long story, but I don't want to repeat myself. Just…call the others here so I can tell you what happened."

Stan nodded, reaching for the phone and carefully avoiding the remnants of the mug he had dropped. He was still glancing over at Kenny's attire with concern when he called Kyle. The conversation was short, with him apologizing for waking the Jew up so early and convincing him to come over. He could hear Kyle's voice over the phone and felt a tingle of anticipation at seeing him again. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed his friends until now he was back. He couldn't help but give Stan a fond smile when the other boy glanced at him.

"Oh, no big reason. I just really need to talk to you about something," Stan said mysteriously over the phone. He waited, then chuckled. "No, I can't tell you over the phone. Just get your ass over here. Oh and call Cartman and tell him that if he comes over I'll buy him KFC for lunch." He hung up.

"Why didn't you tell him I was back?"

"Thought it would be fun to see their reactions," Stan said cheekily.

They talked casually whilst waiting for the other two, neither of them touching upon the subject of Kenny's stay in Hell. It was pretty obvious that he wasn't ready to talk about it and Stan wasn't the type of person to really push the issue. Instead they talked of what had happened in his absence in South Park.

Kenny asked him how Tweek, Craig and Cartman had fared in the accident. He was relieved to find out that Tweek had woken up from his coma and was now okay, but raised his eyebrows when he was told about Craig's therapy.

"Are you serious? I never would've imagined anyone could convince Craig to go to _therapy_. He's such a troublemaker, so I'm sure that people have suggested it but I would've thought it would take wild horses to drag him there."

"Yeah, well, being responsible for the death of a friend can really change your perspective on things. Not to mention putting your best friend in a coma," Stan mumbled, looking slightly guilty about how accusatory he sounded. Kenny felt a surge of mixed feelings. Sadness for Craig and his suffering, anger towards Damien for having caused this and then an overwhelming feeling of emptiness that followed when he thought of Damien. It was too much and he looked down at the ground, unable to face his friend.

"It wasn't his fault…"

He didn't elaborate and finally, when the doorbell rang, the two of them cheered up immensely as they recognized Kyle's voice from the other side of the door. Stan jumped up eagerly and crossed the living room to the door while Kenny lingered behind him. When Stan opened the door, Kyle leaned forward and kissed him, wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling him close. The other boy didn't protest, instead simply moved into the embrace with ease as if it were completely normal. Kyle hadn't noticed that there was anyone else around and his boyfriend seemed to have forgotten momentarily that they had an audience.

Kenny interrupted loudly:

"Holy shit! When did this happen?" It seemed to take a second or two for the two of them to react. It was comical how Kyle grabbed Stan's shoulder and detached himself from his lips before pushing him aside, eyes wide with shock. He stared at the blond for a second, jaw slack.

"Wha-? K-Kenny, what-what-what…h-how-"

"How does me being here surprise you guys? I'm pretty sure my resurrections are now in the quadruple digits," Kenny chuckled, scratching the back of his head.

"But you…were dead for so long," Kyle gasped. "It's been – what – more than three months?" He walked forward until finally he was able to grab Kenny in a tight hug, laughing breathily. The two of them remained in the embrace for a while, before parting, both of them grinning widely. The blond looked at Stan, then at Kyle before wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"I knew you guys were going to get together at some point," he teased. "Took you long enough."

Kyle flushed. "Oh, that was just – no, it was…uh…"

"_Relax_, I'm not judging. That would be hypocritical of me, don't you think?"

Stan steered them into the kitchen, where the three of them sat and they resumed their previous discussion. Kyle was obviously still in awe of Kenny being back, despite the blonde's protests that they shouldn't be at all taken aback. Then again, it seemed that in the two years of not-dying, everyone had cast his resurrection ability out of their minds and assumed that he was like every other person. He knew that the circumstances hadn't been the same, but it was strange to see them reacting this way to something that had once been barely noticeable.

When the doorbell rang a second time, Kenny nearly giggled at the sheer thought of seeing Cartman again. He was amazed by the fact that he was actually looking forward to it.

The door opened and, unlike Kyle, Cartman immediately noticed Stan's guests. He stopped in the doorway, turning a pale white and almost dropping the chipotle he was holding. Nobody spoke, almost afraid to break the temporary quiet. Finally, Kenny decided it was his responsibility to speak up.

"What's wrong, Cartman? You got sand in your vagina?" he taunted. Cartman was silent, staring at his blond friend with wide eyes. His double chin wobbled for a second as if he was about to cry and he lifted his arm and pointed a trembling finger at Kenny. Then his expression changed and he pointed at Kyle:

"Ha! He's alive! _Kahl_,you owe me fifty bucks! I told you he'd come back! Pay up."

Kenny glared at him, all excitement from seeing Cartman disappearing. "You douchebags bet on it? The fuck is wrong with you?"

"What? Hell, no! I just said I thought this time was permanent. _Cartman_ was the one who bet on it," Kyle said defensively.

"Don't be such a Jew, _Kahl_. You're just saying that 'cause you don't wanna pay me."

"Shut up, asshole!"

It took both Kenny and Stan to stop Kyle from physically attacking Cartman once he stepped over the line. Ultimately, Kyle refused to pay the money and Cartman threw a fit and wouldn't shut up until Stan promised to order him some food. Even after, they continued to send each other surly glares until finally they were sat in the kitchen and Kenny was working up the courage to talk to them, to finally tell them the truth.

Kyle was smiling at him and when he saw that Kenny wasn't about to talk, he asked:

"So what's the deal? Is it like before, where you died everyday and came back or…did something else happen?"

"No, it's different. If I die once more, then it's permanent. There's no more…dying and reviving. I wasn't even supposed to come back this time, but I struck a deal with Satan and after giving him…information, he gave me what I wanted – which was to be alive again."

Cartman stared at him with wide eyes. "You struck a deal with Satan? And he gave you…whatever the hell you wanted?" He produced a piece of paper and a pencil and set them on the table, eyes never leaving Kenny. "Now, can you tell me _exactly _what it is that you did to get him to do so? I'm gonna need some details here, so don't-"

"Cartman, shut the hell up and let him talk," Stan said wearily.

Kenny moved into a more comfortable position, blearily wondering how he was possibly going to do this. He had already decided he wasn't going tell them that Damien was the whole reason behind the car accident, behind the events of the past few months. He didn't know why he was protecting Damien's involvement in this whole mess, but somehow he felt he couldn't bring himself to tell all of them. That was something he would reserve to tell Kyle, when they were alone.

"I don't wanna…get too much into it. But pretty much the car crash was planned, from the beginning. Someone – not sure who – set me up for a permanent death in order to get me into Hell. He used magic to kill me without Satan knowing about it, because it's against the rules for anyone to reap souls without permission, and that's how I ended up dead."

"Who was it?"

"He…uh…" he faltered, suddenly realizing that he hadn't exactly decided who to pin the blame on for his untimely death. "I don't know." The lie would've fallen flat if not for the fact that he had his head buried in his hands and his voice was muffled. "All I know is that this guy killed me before I was supposed to die."

The other three glanced at each other nervously. Kenny knew what they were thinking: if it had happened to him, was it possible that they could die prematurely as well?

"But it was just a one time thing!" he interjected quickly, putting his hands up to appease their worries. "The only reason it happened to me was because I used to die all the time. I guess it just…caught his attention." It wasn't a complete lie. He _had _caught Damien's attention because of all the time spent in Hell – or so he assumed. He realized he had never really known the truth behind the boy's motives. "Look, it's just…pretty much what happened was that I found out about him murdering me and since it was pretty valuable information, I went to Satan and exchanged it for my life. And now…I'm here."

There was so much he had left out, so many questions he could see that they were dying to ask. But he hadn't wanted to go into details, in case he'd let something slip.

"How did you find out?" Kyle asked.

"And what the fuck did you do all that time in Hell? Did you meet Billy Mays?" Cartman said, overriding Kyle's question.

"No, I didn't meet Billy Mays, you fucking idiot. And I just did what everyone else does in Hell – anything I wanted," he snapped. He turned to the redhead, expression softening. "Kevin told me what happened. He was informed by a source that revealed what caused my death."

"Kevin? As in your brother?"

"Yeah. He died a while ago…overdosed on heroin, that asshole."

They didn't say anything for a second and he could tell that the others were dying to ask him more questions, probably about the huge gaps in his story. But at the moment, he wasn't really in the mood to continue this discussion. The lying was making his brain fuzzy and he realized that he was really missing his parents. He felt bad as he realized that they had lost all three of their children.

"Any of you guys got a cigarette?"

Stan managed to find one hidden within the bookshelf. Kenny guessed that they would belong to Randy and gratefully took one. After about five minutes of comfortable silence he stretched his arms, leaning back on the chair with the cigarette loosely held in his hand. He had missed the smell of cigarettes. Sure he had smoked in Hell, but they'd smelled different. They had smelled a lot more toxic and overwhelming. You could almost taste the cancer when you smoked them. He reveled in the old sensation before finally deciding that it was time to leave.

"I'd better go home, guys. You know, give my parents the good news and all. Plus I have some dirty magazines under my bed that I have to get reacquainted with. Unless you took advantage of my death to steal them all," he teased, winking at Stan who blushed.

Kyle left with him, since the two of them lived in the same direction and waved goodbye to the other two. Once they were fully out of earshot on the empty street Kyle nudged his arm gently.

"You got something you want to tell me?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're usually a much better liar than this. Not even Butters would've bought that story you crapped out in there. It's obvious that you're hiding something from us," Kyle said. "So you going to tell me what it is?"

The blond sighed, knowing that he couldn't avoid this. As he blurted the truth to Kyle, he felt as if some weight were lifting from his shoulders and his worry seemed to dissipate slightly. It was as if telling everything to his friend would just make everything right again, make him feel whole again.

He told Kyle about Damien's infatuation with him and about how he had used magic in order to cause the car crash. He told Kyle about how he had arrived in Hell and spent the first few months isolating himself in his room, playing video games and listening to depressing music and watching every single movie on Damien's shelf. He told Kyle about how he'd befriended the son of Satan, only to fall in love with him after a few months. Then he told Kyle about his brother finally revealing to him the truth, and how he had betrayed his boyfriend by selling out his secret.

Through the entire thing the redhead listening to him with wide eyes and once Kenny finished, the only thing he could do was say:

"Holy shit, dude."

"It's so fucking painful, Kyle. I mean I'm still so furious at him for doing what he did. He had no goddamn right to interfere with my life like that and cause so much suffering just for his selfish desires. But then I think about how I sold him out to his dad…and he's not the Satan we used to know, either. He's a real son of a bitch nowadays, like you wouldn't believe." He bit his lip, disturbed. "I'm just worried that he's not going to go easy on Damien, even though he's his son. At the time it just seemed like all I wanted was to come back here, but I didn't think about the consequences."

"Do you regret it?"

"I don't know," he admitted truthfully. "I'm too pissed off to think properly. But I'm scared that once I finally let go of my anger…I'll start to wish I was back with Damien again. I'm scared that I'll regret what I did and have to live with it until the day I die. I…I'm scared that I'll miss him."

"From what I can see, you miss him already," Kyle said. "Face it, man. You made a tough choice and now you're just going to have to live with it. I'm sorry about all this, but I'm just glad you're back. I really missed you."

Kenny shot him a grateful smile as they stopped walking, finally at the place where they were supposed to separate. "Thanks, Kyle. That means a lot to me."

They parted ways, with Kenny promising to attend school once he was over all of this and ready. He wasn't really enthusiastic about that, wistfully remembering the freedom and lack-of-school that he'd experienced in Hell. But even that couldn't bring down his mood as he approached his door and finally knocked on it four times.

He had thought that his reunion with his parents would be deeply touching and full of teary-eyed hugs and such. But when his mother opened the door, took one look at him before screaming, and then fainted, he found that he couldn't stop himself from laughing hysterically.


	14. Token's Party

**Disclaimers: **I don't own the South Park characters. I _do _own Adam, Vivian, Arrow, Marcus, Square Jaw, Snakebites and the drug Valexium.

**Notes: **Ah, this one took quite a while. I don't even know how I managed it. I've just started university and things are a bit crazy, but I've set aside some time to write this. My time management seems to be a little bit off though considering it's 1.00am, I'm exhausted and I still have three pages of work to do that's due tomorrow at 9.00am! I'm really settling into university life fantastically, as you can see!

But never mind that, at least I've finished this chapter. I've never written such a long story before and I can't wait to hit the 100,000 words mark! It's gonna be awesome!

And I'd really like to thank everyone who has been so patient. As you can see, I have not abandoned this story and have no intention of doing so. But it's nice if you could all review…you know…for a little motivation and inspiration…hint hint.

Chapter Fourteen

Token's Party

Kenny wasn't sure what to expect when he stepped into school grounds, but he hadn't realized that everyone's reactions would be so…varied. He had finally been convinced to go to school a week after being resurrected, when his mother had insisted that his education was still important despite what he'd been through.

So he went. It was a Friday. He wanted to give people the weekend to process his reappearance.

He took the bus, keeping his head low, and avoided the looks of the other students. He was wearing a dark blue hoodie, and it had felt strange when putting it on. But he refused to think about where his orange parka currently was residing.

The people on the bus weren't in his class, except for Stan, Kyle and Cartman, so nobody seemed to really notice his sudden appearance. He enjoyed a few minutes of peace – or as much peace as one could get on a school bus – talking only to his friends. None of them mentioned how the others were going to react, only began filling him in on the things that had been happening while he was dead.

"So, you two are going out-"

"Fags."

"_Shut up, fat ass!_"

"-Wendy's single, Clyde and Bebe are getting it on, but not officially, and Craig and Tweek are about to go out any day now?" he confirmed as they walked into school. "What about Butters? How's he doing?"

"Same as usual. His parents grounded him for not having a girlfriend again," Kyle said sympathetically.

"Jesus. I forgot what a douche his dad is." They reached the doors of the school. "So anyway, when you get into school, just act casual, yeah? I don't want people making a scene."

The others nodded, with Cartman rolling his eyes. He hadn't understood why Kenny didn't want to show off his re-appearance. Unlike his fat friend, Kenny didn't want to milk his resurrection for all it was worth. He still didn't understand why it was such a big deal.

He held his bag close to him and walked through the doors he hadn't seen in months. The first few people he didn't really recognize, and they wouldn't recognize him without his orange parka anyway. Then the first familiar people he came across were Wendy, Red and Bebe, all of whom were gossiping in the corridor.

"-ugh, what a slut. I _knew _she was cheating on him – I just didn't know who the guy was."

"Exactly, but then-" Wendy caught sight of the four of them. "Oh, hey Stan."

"Hey, Wendy." Apparently they were still on good terms. "What's up?"

"Nothing much. Who's your friend?"

Stan didn't answer, just watched as Wendy's eyes locked onto Kenny's and she began to greet him, before freezing in shock. Her voice caught in her throat and she looked like she was choking on her words.

"Oh my-how did…what-how did-"

Behind her, Bebe took one look at Kenny and screamed, hands jumping to cover her mouth. Her legs seemed to give way underneath her and she was caught by a speechless Red, who seemed to dazedly help the blonde back to her feet.

"_Kenny?_" Wendy spluttered.

"In the flesh," he joked, smirking at her. "Wow, didn't expect the ladies to start swooning at my feet so soon." Bebe seemed to be having a mild attack of some sort, whereas Red still hadn't moved.

"Holy _shit! _You're back!"

Kenny felt someone clap a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Clyde and Token standing behind him, both of them grinning widely. He high-fived them enthusiastically, feeling a flutter of nostalgia.

"We weren't sure if you were coming back this time," Token admitted. "Good to see you."

"You know I always come back. This time it just took a little longer."

"Yeah but still…two years, man. We'd pretty much forgotten about it. We thought you were a goner for sure. Where'd you go this time?"

"Hah. Where'd you think, moron? As if I'm virtuous enough to get into Heaven."

"Christ, Tweek is gonna freak out when he sees you," Clyde chuckled. Then he frowned, looking slightly disturbed. "And Craig's just gonna…well, I don't really know how he's going to react." Kenny watched as Kyle and Stan exchanged significant looks. The blond wanted to ask what those looks meant, but he didn't have any time.

"Hey Kenny, I'm having a pool party tomorrow after lunch. You should come over," Token said. "My parent's are in Hawaii for the week so we'll be free to do whatever we want."

"Hell, yeah! There's no way I'm passing up one of your awesome house parties!"

Token, due to his huge mansion and unlimited supply of money, always threw the most ridiculously fun parties. His parents were often on vacation and the people working at his house never told on Token. So he always took advantage and bought tons of booze and everyone always ended up having a great, drunken time.

His friends were eagerly reminiscing about the previous parties and exchanging numerous high fives when he spotted another of his friends. Down the hallway he could see Tweek walking in his direction. He was concentrating on his coffee thermos, trying to minimize the shaking so that he could drink it properly.

"Hey, Tweek! Look who's here!" Token said when he was close enough.

The twitchy blond noticed Kenny immediately, since his mind worked at a mile a minute, and started. His eyes bulged in fright.

"Hey, what's up, man?"

"J-Jesus _Christ!_" he shrieked, dropping his coffee thermos onto the floor. The cap fell off and coffee spilled all over the floor. As they watched, the thermos rolled down the hall until it came to a stop next to a pair of worn out trainers. Kenny stared as Craig turned around and picked up the thermos, looking at it in confusion. He took off his headphones – the music was so loud that Kenny could hear it blaring from where he was.

"Hey Tweek, you dropped your…" his voice trailed off.

"Hello, Craig. How've you been?"

Craig didn't answer, his face completely pale white as he stared at Kenny. The silence was awkward and stretched out as the others didn't know what to say. It was a difficult situation for all of them, and the usually composed Craig seemed ready to pass out right where he was standing. He swayed slightly, then stopped, taking a few steps back.

"Um, Craig? Are you all right?" Kyle asked. Craig turned and walked off without a word, giving the finger to Kyle before he disappeared around the corner. "Crap. He's probably going to need a month of therapy after this."

"K_-Kenny?_ What the – _ngh!_" Tweek seemed torn between staying to bludgeon him with numerous questions or follow after Craig to see if he was okay. Finally, curiosity seemed to win and he shot a despairing look at where Craig had disappeared and then turned to Kenny. "You're _b-back!_"

"It's a long story, and I don't really feel like talking about it. But I'm back for real, and that's what matters," Kenny said, suddenly feeling exhausted. He motioned for the others to follow him to class, needing to sit down and settle into some form of normality before he exploded.

The next few hours were almost hellish. Mr. Garrison's reaction had been almost comical – "_Holy Sarah Jessica Parker_!" – but then he'd been bombarded with so many questions that they hadn't even begun the lesson. He'd been forced to make up some bullshit story the entire time and had not once mentioned his romantic encounters with his now ex-lover.

He'd expected some long, drawn out yet satisfying reunion but somehow everyone seemed to crowd him in that one moment with their various reactions and it was _tiring_ to have to explain everything. He remembered talking to Damien who had told him that being the new kid was so insanely exhausting sometimes – what with the constant introductions and explanations of where he was from and so on. He'd just wanted to tell everyone to stop asking questions and just act like normal, as if he weren't some new kid or a freak of nature, as if he were one of them.

Despite the immense heartache he got from thinking about Damien, he forced himself to realize that the son of Satan had been right. Returning from the dead was a little like being the new kid. Everyone knew so little and everyone asked the same questions and no one seemed to realize when he was starting to get sick of answering those questions.

He wished he were curled up back in his bed at home. Even Stan and Kyle didn't seem to realize how much pressure he was feeling and Cartman was definitely not letting up on his questions.

Finally, during recess, he decided to ditch school for the rest of the day. He was pretty sure the teachers wouldn't report it and when he told Stan and Kyle they both seemed worried but allowed him to leave, not wanting to push him into anything.

He entered the parking lot, crossing it as fast as he possibly could. He just wanted to get out of this suffocating atmosphere before he vomited or passed out. He mistakenly believed he was alone until he turned the corner and spotted a familiar face. It took him a few tense seconds to decide whether to continue his escape or stop and talk to his friend. He decided that he wanted – no, _needed_ – to talk to him, to clear things up.

He could see Craig, stretched out on the hood of his old and battered truck and smoking a cigarette. There were dozens of cigarette butts littered on the ground below, indicating his stress level was at an all-time high. Kenny approached him with caution, not sure if he had been seen.

"Craig? You okay, man?"

Craig's eyes flickered towards him and he smiled bitterly.

"Do I _look _okay?"

"No, you look like shit." It wasn't a lie. Kenny jumped onto the car and snagged a cigarette from the pack. They smoked in silence until finally Craig spoke:

"I left school after I saw you. Went to a minimart and bought seven packs of cigarettes and just sat here, convincing myself that it was a dream."

"It's not such a big deal. I've done this before."

"Yeah, but you hadn't died for so long, everyone assumed that this would…be your last." He dropped his cigarette to the ground and picked up another one, lighting it mechanically. "You know, I had to go to therapy while you were gone."

"I heard. What the hell was that about? I thought you said therapy was for pussies."

"It is, but…I had a couple of breakdowns," he admitted, his voice tainted with shame. It was obviously difficult for him to admit to such a thing, considering he hated to show any weakness.

"What, like, crying and screaming and ripping your hair out?"

Craig snorted. "Nothing so dramatic. Just stopped eating and sleeping until I passed out in class a couple of times. When I tried to eat, I'd puke it back up and when I slept I kept…reliving it. So I gave up both of them. Seemed like the logical choice, but it turns out it's not so good for your health." His breathing was shaky, as if he was about to cry, but Kenny knew better. "It was just…so fucked up. So completely…fucked up. I kept blaming myself for what happened."

"It wasn't your fault," Kenny said automatically. Not because he wanted to comfort Craig, but because it was the truth. Even if the accident had not been…pre-destined, there was no way Craig was to blame. It had been a freak accident – caused by a rock tumbling off the mountain and not a drunk or careless driver.

"Yeah? Who the fuck was _driving _the car?"

"Look, Craig, there's something you should know. When I was in Hell, I…did some research and found out some stuff about what happened." Kenny took a deep breath, clenching his fists in his pockets so his friend couldn't see. "The car accident was pre-destined. The reason it happened was because I was _meant _to die, and…_Satan_ just needed a…manner of death, which unfortunately, was a car crash. We would've crashed no matter who had been driving. I needed to die, and you just happened to be the one driving the car and…Tweek was just unlucky enough to be badly hurt."

The black-haired boy's eyes had widened during his entire confession, which was almost completely the truth. The hope in his eyes, the utter _relief_ was almost beautiful.

"So," Craig choked, "it _wasn't _my fault. You're not just…making shit up to make me feel better?"

"Have you ever known me to do something like that? Puh-lease, I tell it like it _is_, Craig. Don't insult me."

Craig laughed, seemingly more relaxed than before. There was still the strain of the past few months on his face, but it had softened slightly. He offered Kenny a weak grin and another cigarette, which the blond took. They smoked in silence for the next hour, neither of them in a hurry to leave.

Kenny no longer felt completely suffocated and allowed himself to relax, tilting his head against the windshield of the truck. Once Craig had finished, he hopped off the truck and turned to Kenny:

"Wanna head back to my place? I've got an X box."

Kenny grinned. The implications in that invitation were pretty obvious. He ignored the glaring consequences of what Craig was offering and nodded. "Sure. Why not?" He had to ignore the coil of guilt inside his chest when he opened the car door and sat inside. It wouldn't help him, it would just ruin everything he was trying to rebuild.

00000

He watched as the two got into the car and Craig drove off, maneuvering slowly and carefully onto the road. His hands were clutched around the orange parka so tightly that his fingers had turned white and the material was crumpled underneath. Damien wondered how much longer he would have to feel this agony, wondered if it would ever stop.

His eyes were glued to the screen, to the moving truck until finally he couldn't take it anymore. He turned off the television and chucked the remote onto the bed bitterly.

Satan had replaced all of his things the day after Kenny had left and when he'd entered his room, everything looked like it had been before Kenny had trashed it. Amazingly enough, his television still had '_South Park Channel'_. He didn't know if his Dad wasn't aware of its existence, or if he had left it there as some sort of torturous reminder to Damien of what he had lost forever.

Either way it didn't matter anymore. He had seen enough. He was tired, and he just wanted it to stop.

Gathering up his powers, he shakily focused on the television, willing it to move. The machine trembled, wavering on the counter before coming to a stop. He frowned. _What the hell? _

His powers had been a little shaky before – he hadn't practiced very much in the past two years – but never this bad. Once again he tried to lift the television, willing it to fly out the window. He didn't care about destroying another expensive object; his dad could afford it. He really just wanted the damn thing out of his room.

But once again, the television merely shook slightly before coming to a still. He stared at his hands, baffled and infuriated.

"What the _fuck_?" he hissed. "Fine, guess I'll have to do this the hard way." And he walked over the to the television, picked it up and hauled it out the window, watching as it fell onto the ground and tumbled down the grassy hill, the screen shattering and pieces going everywhere. It would be the fate of the next few televisions his Dad bothered to buy him, until he finally got the idea.

He ripped his eyes away from the sight and stalked over to the orange parka lying innocently on the ground. He picked it up, his movement softening. He breathed in the scent lingering on the parka and sighed, closing his eyes.

_Kenny…_

Behind his eyelids he saw a flash of blond hair, a teasing smile and gasped, his breath shuddering. Fuck, it hurt so much. The scent of his love was so overwhelming he just wanted to immerse himself in the memories and drown in them.

_Stop it. Stop thinking about him…_

He gathered all the willpower he had and forced himself to do the next action. It took a few clicks of his fingers, a few more than he would usually need in normal circumstances, but soon he could smell the smoldering of the material and feel the heat of the fire flickering around his fingers. He didn't need to look to see that the jacket was becoming a burnt, withered mess in his hands.

The scent was completely replaced by the smell of smoke and burnt clothing and he sat there, feeling empty and hardened, like a shell.

00000

"I can't do this."

"We need to stop."

They glanced at each other in surprise, before smiling uncomfortably. Kenny thanked the Lord that they'd both meant to say the exact same thing. It would've been horrifically awkward if one of them had wanted to continue while the other had decided to stop. But he could see that Craig wasn't happy with this either, that his enthusiasm was forced.

They were currently lying on Craig's bed. They had been making small talk for the past half hour and that in itself was an indication neither of them was interested anything more than that. When Kenny wanted to sleep with someone, he didn't spend half an hour lightly making out and pussyfooting around the actual act. If he had been with Damien, their clothes would have hit the ground within the first three minutes.

Instead, Craig had just kissed him awkwardly and then neither of them made any move to go further. Neither of them had really wanted to, he guessed.

Craig sat up and sighed, looking regretful.

"This is wrong. I shouldn't be…I have Tweek. Who's probably going to hate me for this when he finds out."

"You and…Tweek? Heh, can't say I'm really surprised," Kenny chuckled. "But you're right. We shouldn't be doing this. Whatever we had before it's…gone. Just gone."

Craig nodded in agreement, reaching for his cigarettes. "So uh…who were you thinking about?"

"Huh?"

"When we were making out. You were obviously thinking about someone else. I could just tell. Who was it? Someone in Hell?"

Kenny was conflicted. On one hand, he wanted to keep Damien a secret from most people. Sure, he had told Kyle, but that was because he'd needed the release. But on the other hand, he still felt guilt when he looked at Craig. It was inadvertently his fault that the boy had suffered so much trauma in the past few months.

"You remember Damien? The son of Satan, the one who always set stuff on fire and used his mind to move shit around?"

"Are you serious? You hooked up with _him, _the son of Satan? Christ, you aim high."

"A little more than hooked up. We were…I loved him. Like I've never loved anyone before," he admitted, the words scalding his throat like fire. He could feel the ghost of Damien's touch on his skin, his warmth against his chest. His eye burned from tears and he bit his lip, turning away to face the wall so Craig couldn't see.

"From the sounds of it, you still love him. Why did you come back here if you love him that much?"

"I didn't have a choice."

That was that. Kenny made it clear that he didn't want to talk anymore about it so they spoke about other things instead. He was curious, mostly about Craig and Tweek and their relationship. Listening to Craig talk about the blond, he was immensely grateful that they had both stopped in time. To think that he'd almost destroyed their growing relationship – he would never have forgiven himself for that.

He could hear the fondness in Craig's voice when he spoke of Tweek and it made his heart twinge. There was that familiar tone in his voice, the one that he'd always heard in Damien's voice whenever he spoke to Kenny. He'd never noticed it until he'd found out that Damien liked him, but when he thought back, it had always been there.

They played some X box, made some snacks and pretty much had some regular guy time. Neither of them mentioned what they had almost done. Ultimately, there was really no point in dwelling on mistakes of the past so they settled back into their comfortable friendship. Months of unresolved problems and feelings just melted away and they both felt happier at the end of the night.

Finally Craig said he was exhausted and they retired to his room. Kenny immediately helped him set up a mattress on the floor. Craig's bed was big enough for both of them but they silently agreed that he would stay on the floor to avoid any more awkwardness. Kenny flopped onto the mattress, spread-eagled and eyes half-lidded. He felt a slight chill run through him.

"Here, pass over a pillow," he said. The pillow hit his face and he cursed, fumbling around. It was followed by a blanket, which he then put onto the mattress. "I said pass it, not throw it."

"Same difference."

Kenny put his pillow down and pulled the blanket to his chin. The mattress was old, lumpy and dusty. Craig had apologized for the state of it but Kenny wasn't really one to complain. "This mattress reminds me of my own bed."

"You poor piece of crap," Craig snorted. "Now shut up and go to sleep."

"Yes, your highness."

Craig turned off the lights and the room was immersed in darkness. Immediately Kenny felt a tightening in his chest, like something was gripping his heart. He waited, expecting to feel warm arms wrap around him and pull him close. Nothing happened and he felt a shudder run down his spine.

It had been like this every night since leaving Hell. He would lie in his bed, waiting for the warmth to encompass him and for something to fill up that gaping hole of despair that seemed to be consuming him from the inside. But nothing ever happened and he was left with silence and darkness. In the day time the pain was there, but it was muffled, faded. He had spent all his time either with his parents or his friends, needing a distraction. But in the dark, when he was about to sleep, there was nothing to distract him from his own thoughts.

He was suddenly glad that he hadn't brought anything with him from Hell that would remind him of Damien. He didn't want that temptation, that regret hanging around his house. He was already feeling empty inside just seeing Damien's face in his memory. If he'd had a picture, he knew he would have had a major breakdown every time he looked at it.

No, this was a clean break. That was a good thing, right? Weren't they supposed to heal quicker?

Was he ever going to heal?

He muffled a sob and buried his face into his pillow, listening to the sound of Craig's heavy breathing, which indicated that he was already asleep. He didn't want to wake the other boy up with his crying. That would just be absolutely pathetic.

At this thought the tears began to stream down his cheeks in rivers and he couldn't stop them. Horrified at himself, he clutched the pillow closer and bit down on it, so he wouldn't wake up his friend. Trembles wracked his thin frame until he felt like he was going to break into little pieces.

"Damien. _Fuck_, Damien," he gasped to himself, relishing the sound of the boy's name.

He was still angry with Damien, but now he wanted to see him again. He could feel that need to forgive, just so he could see his lover's smile again.

The only thing keeping him from completely dying inside was the thought that this wasn't the end. He would see Damien again, once he died for the final time and returned to Hell. It was a morbid thought, but he was finding salvation in the thought of his death. He didn't know how long it was going to take but he could wait.

He had contemplated suicide – the first few days had been so unbearable that the thought had loomed over him constantly – but he knew that in the end it was a stupid idea. He couldn't do that to his parents, to his friends and to himself. He wasn't willing to take his own life so selfishly and hurt all those around him once again.

So instead he held onto that little thread of hope, that belief that once he finally died he would be able to see Damien again. And even though he was still feeling the bitter fury from what Damien had done, it wouldn't last.

He couldn't escape these thoughts the entire night, and he drifted in and out of sleep turbulently. It seemed to be an eternity when the sun finally rose and Craig woke up, rising just before lunchtime. Kenny had gotten up several hours before and had started watching television without sound.

They ate lunch and chatted slightly, then walked down to the store and bought some alcohol. Token usually bought tons, but they figured it was only polite to contribute. Craig insisted on paying for most of it, especially after Kenny tried to reach into his own coat pocket to pay and the flimsy, cheap material tore open.

Then Craig drove them to Token's house. Kenny noted with dark amusement that he drove slightly below the speed limit and with his hand gripping the steering wheel tightly, eyes alert and body tensed. When he tried to talk, Craig shushed him, mumbling something about concentration. He also glared at Kenny until he reluctantly put on his seatbelt.

"Christ, you're paranoid," Kenny muttered.

"Can you blame me?"

"No, guess not. But it's kind of funny."

"No it's not, you asshole. So stop laughing." Despite this, he was having difficulty repressing a smile. Then they continued in silence until they reached Token's house. Kenny couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy when he saw how absolutely massive and gorgeous it was.

They entered the house, making their way to the living room where everyone was sitting.

"Greetings! We brought vodka!" Kenny yelled, inciting a cheer from the crowd of people. They had arrived relatively late and everyone was already on their second or third drink. Those who would hold their alcohol like Stan and Token were already on their fourth whereas lightweights like Wendy and Butters were still on their first.

"Set it on the table. We're playing Truth or Dare."

"How original," Kenny snorted.

Tweek was standing at the table with all the alcohol, pouring some into his thermos. Kenny felt his stomach clench with guilt when he noticed twitchy blond's distressed eyes locked on the two of them, wide and staring. He looked undeniably hurt, but it turned to slight confusion when Craig immediately went to his side and wrapped arms around him, kissing him on his temple.

Kenny could hear the girls cooing at how 'cute' the scene was and rolled his eyes. Cartman, on the other hand, started making gagging noises and rude comments. He was immediately silenced by Stan who punched him in the arm.

He plopped himself in between Stan and Cartman and filled up a glass for himself. Then another. Then another. Then another, until he began to feel slightly tipsy, and noticed that his vision was strangely sharp and bright. The others started getting restless and were too drunk to think of any more good dares.

"I'm sick of Truth or Dare! Let's play something else."

"I say we play Strip Poker," Clyde suggested. She slapped him on the arm, then playfully kissed his cheek. Kenny had slept with several girls, but he still didn't understand them at all.

"I'm gonna have to agree with Clyde. Who's with me?"

"Shut up, Cartman," Wendy snapped. The other boys had put their hands up while the girls crossed their arms and glared.

"Oh, sorry Wendy. Looks like the majority rules."

"Like hell! We are _not _playing Strip Poker."

The two continued to bicker and Kenny just swirled his drink around in his cup, unable to immerse himself in the conversation. Now, whenever Cartman talked he just ignored him. The others were joining in the bickering, throwing out suggestions for what they could play next.

It took a while for him to notice that everyone was stripping down to his or her swimming attire and he turned to Kyle, asking:

"What's going on?"

"Swimming pool time. It's the best part!" he replied, grinning widely. Stan was muffling laughter behind him and Kenny guessed that the black-haired boy had made his boyfriend's drinks a little stronger than he could handle. When the Jew ran out to the swimming pool he high-fived Stan.

They all gathered around the pool. The girls, excluding Red and Heidi, all began sunbathing. The others immediately jumped into the pool, which was ridiculously large. Kenny guessed that it was an Olympic-sized pool.

He could see Craig and Tweek making out in the Jacuzzi, whereas Stan and Kyle were daring each other to jump off the diving board and Clyde sat with Bebe, sharing a drink with her. Watching all this, Kenny felt like he'd missed out on so much happening. He felt that he'd changed. Ages ago, he would've been hitting on everyone in sight, trying to find the drunkest girl or guy that he could sleep with before the night was over.

Now he barely glanced at the girls and felt no attraction to anyone. It was strange and almost refreshing, but also slightly depressing. It wasn't as if he was a 'couple'. That wasn't what was holding him back. It was the fact that he didn't want to be with anyone else.

He quickly shook his head, ridding himself of these thoughts. He was here to have fun, not to bum himself and everyone else out.

"Dude, we should have a contest to see who can hold their breath the longest! Winner gets a bottle of vodka free," Token suggested suddenly.

The others boys whooped, high fiving drunkenly. Usually when they were drunk at one of Token's parties, their competitiveness took over and they began doing various competitions that steadily got stupider and stupider. The first contest would usually be something easy such as who could hold their breath the longest. Eventually they would begin challenges such as who could roll one hundred meters the fastest or who could tolerate the most belly flops before crying from the pain.

Most of them began to down the drinks they were holding and the girls rolled their eyes, already anticipating the numerous cuts, bruises and possible broken bones that they would have by the end of the day. In the past Kenny had even contributed a death to one of the competitions, though at the time his deaths had still been no big deal.

"I-I don't know guys. Last time I did that I passed out and my parents grounded me for almost drowning," Butters stammered.

"Come on, Butters! Don't be such a pussy!" Cartman said, dunking the blond's head in the water.

"Wait, who's the champion so far?"

"Um, if I remember correctly, it was Stan who had three minutes and nine seconds."

The others cheered and Stan pumped his muscles teasingly and blew kisses to all the others. Kyle pushed him into the pool, laughing as he flailed in surprise.

"You're going _down_, Stan! I've been practicing," Clyde yelled before cannon balling into the pool. The girls shrieked in protest when water splashed all over them. Bebe, who was listening to her iPod and sunbathing on the deck chair, sat up and glared at Clyde, who surfaced from the water. "Sorry, babe!"

"Damn it, Clyde! My iPod's here!"

"Who's going to keep score?"

"I'll do it," Wendy volunteered, taking off her sunglasses. She held up Token's watch and instructed them to get in the water. Kenny swam next to Stan, who was floating on his back.

"You're going _down_, Marsh," he challenged. Stan snorted.

"Not likely, McCormick. I doubt you spent much time practicing when you were in Hell."

"Nah. Too many corpses in the water."

"Yeah, and…wait, what?"

"On the count of three!" Wendy yelled, catching their attention. She giggled at all the drunken, eager faces staring up at her. "One…two…three…Go!"

Kenny submerged himself in the water, flipping Stan the finger as he did so. The black-haired boy smirked and returned the sign. He looked around and saw all the other boys making rude and funny gestures to each other, and laughing so that bubbles went floating up to the top.

He clenched his eyes shut, feeling strangely peaceful. All he could hear was white noise around him and the sound of his own heartbeat thundering through his body. Time seemed to pass incredibly slowly and when he opened his eyes, the first person swam up to the top, as if in slow motion. He could see from the body shape that the person was Cartman.

He was followed by Tweek, who was funnily enough still shivering while he was underwater. Then steadily everyone seemed to swim up, one after the other. He watched as the blurry figures rose to the top until finally there was only him, Stan, Token and Clyde. Stan still seemed pretty relaxed, but the other two were beginning to fidget.

Token left and Clyde shot them a look of admiration before giving up. He watched as Stan gave them thumbs up before focusing once again.

Kenny had never been this good at holding his breath and although it was starting to get ridiculously uncomfortable, he wasn't hitting that point where it wasn't bearable anymore. His lungs felt like they were on fire, but there was no desperate need to breathe like he'd felt all those other times he'd been doing this.

In fact, this was what holding his breath in Hell felt like. There had been all the same feelings as when he'd been alive – lungs on fire from lack of oxygen or whatever he had breathed in Hell - but just no urge to actually breathe. He could go on like this forever, but it would just be hideously unpleasant.

He had lost track of time but managed to catch Stan giving him an incredulous look before surfacing. He could hear the other talking above him but their voices were muffled, blurred by the water.

Timed passed. At one point Stan dove back in with a concerned look on his face and he gave him thumbs up to reassure him that everything was going well.

Finally, _finally_, Stan swam to him, grabbed his arm and pulled him forcefully to the surface. He breathed in a mouthful of air, feeling the lovely relief of oxygen – he'd never felt this relief in Hell – and swam to the edge, wiping the water out of his eyes.

"Dude, what the hell? I could've gone on for way longer," he complained, pulling himself up to the edge.

He looked around and noticed that most of the people were staring at him in disbelief. Wendy was glancing at him, then at the watch, then back at him with her mouth open.

"Holy shit, dude," Kyle said, looking over her shoulder. "You were underwater for almost _twelve minutes!_ That's got to be some kind of world record!"

"I don't remember you having this awesome power before! Is this because you came back late this time?" Stan asked.

Kenny felt uncomfortable with everyone staring at him. He didn't like their eyes burning holes in his back.

"Uh, yeah. I'm pretty sure it's just one of those side effects that'll fade away eventually," he lied, waving it off. Everyone nodded and _'ahed' _before turning back to each other and chatting once again. He could see them setting up the next game, which was one that he himself had invented, in which the competitors would have to take a shot, spin around twenty times and then run to a designated point.

"I don't remember you having this side effect before," Kyle muttered, sitting down next to him.

"Things are different this time. Circumstances were different. Maybe it's not like before – maybe this time it's just taking me longer to get accustomed to being on Earth again."

"Even when you died for months when we were eight or nine or whatever, you still didn't come back with any superpowers."

"Yeah, but this time I died for real. No stupid curse, remember? Maybe things are different because it was supposed to be my last time and me coming back here wasn't supposed to happen."

It sounded weak as he said it, but he was silently pleading with Kyle to drop the subject. He didn't want to think about it because truthfully, he was scared. Kyle was right – this had never happened before. And he was pretty sure that this had nothing to do with his curse and its absence. There was something strange in the way all of this was happening and something just felt…different. His entire body felt different.

"Oh, I guess you're right," Kyle said, looking thoughtful. Kenny knew his explanation was bullshit, but it wasn't as if the Jew was an expert on the workings of Hell, so he probably assumed that almost anything Kenny told him was the truth. "You coming? I love this game."

"Yeah, in a second."

He watched as the others tried to argue where the finish line was and smiled, feeling strange inside. All of this seemed so distant. It was almost like he was in a dream…or a memory.

He quickly shook his head, dispelling any strange thoughts. He was here to have fun and nothing was going to stop him from enjoying himself!

He immersed himself in all the games, determined to forget what had just happened. Soon he had practically forgotten and every time his mind began to wander, he quickly shook himself back into reality. And drank. He drank a _lot_.

His mind was so fuzzy and strange and he was enjoying the feeling when Token shoved another bottle of alcohol into his hands. He demanded that his friends join him in a drinking game and when they decided to leave, he still had half a bottle of vodka left and they were all wasted.

Kyle finally decided, "We should go. Before we all die of alcohol poisoning. Goodbye, Token, thanks for the party!" And they all waved goodbye, watching as the others drank shots out of Bebe's belly button.

They headed away from the 'rich' part of town and headed into the center of South Park, passing a few people they knew. Kyle hid behind Stan, worried that someone he knew might see him and tell his mom that he had been drinking. Kenny began singing loudly as they walked, taking regular swigs from the bottle.

"Pass it over Kenny. Stop hogging all the vodka," Cartman complained.

"Piss off, fat ass. I won this for me and only me." Nonetheless, he passed the alcohol. Behind him Stan was moaning about having a family lunch with relatives tomorrow. His grin faltered as he realized how absolutely terrible he was going to feel the next day if he didn't drink some water. "Hey guys, let's get some water from the supermarket before we go home. Hopefully we can avoid feeling like total crap tomorrow."

"Good idea."

Across the road was the supermarket and he motioned for the others to go over. The cars honked, drivers swearing at them as they crossed the street without looking. Cartman just swore and shook his fist at them, yelling about his authority. Once they reached the other side, Kenny began fishing around in his pocket for some coins. He was still drunk, so his fingers were fumbling around uselessly and when he retrieved them, he pulled his hand out. The coins scattered on the floor.

"Aw, crap. Wait a second guys, I have to get my money," he said, bending down to pick up the coins, he swayed and without looking up, turned around and began to drunkenly follow one of the coins that was rolling its way back onto the road.

Heedless to the oncoming traffic, he stepped off the curb and followed it, reaching with clumsy hands to pick it up. His fingers wrapped around the coin.

"Gotcha," he said triumphantly. There was a terrific blast of sound coming from his left and he looked up, mildly surprised by the bus only a few meters away.

"_Kenny!_"

"Holy shit, _Kenny, get off the_-"

He barely had time to register the screech of brakes and the terrified look on the driver's face before the bus connected with his body, propelling it backwards with such terrific force he felt it ripple through his body, shattering his bones in the process and splitting his skin open. He felt himself rocketing backwards in some convoluted flight, body twisted and thrown like a rag doll until he hit the ground with a terrific _crack _that was a sickening harmony of bones breaking.

There was barely any pain in the first few seconds as he looked around dazedly, limbs jutting out at strange angles. Then as the agony began to settle in, a new, unfamiliar pain shook through him and he watched in amazement as – with incredible speed – his bones began to reset themselves. His dislocated shoulder popped back into his socket – _shit that hurt!_ – and the bone jutting out of the skin of his leg slid back in and clicked back into place.

The blood on the ground and on the bus slithered back to him and seeped into his open wounds, which then sealed themselves shut and when he could move, he felt his head just in time to notice a massive bump receding into its original shape. This all happened within three seconds and the moment it was over, he felt no pain, no agony.

He'd also sobered up considerably.

"_Kenny! _Oh God, Oh _fuck_, Kenny!"

"Is he okay? Is he okay?"

"Kenny! Kenny – fuck, someone call an ambulance!"

People were gathering around, confused and terrified and fumbling for their phones. The bus driver had gotten off the bus and he was staring at the front of the bus, which didn't have a speck of blood on it but did have spider web cracks.

His friends, who were running up to him – Christ, how far had he been thrown? – stopped in astonishment when he stood up, unhurt and confused. The only thing wrong with him was a little trembling in his legs, but he attributed that to his current mental state rather than any physical wounds.

He looked down at his hands in astonishment, at how completely fine they were. Sure, they were covered in dirt and gravel, but there were no cuts or scrapes or bruises.

"Kenny, what the…how the hell are you even walking? You should lie down! You're injured!" Kyle said.

"No…I'm not hurt."

"Dude, we all saw. There's no way you're not hurt. I _know _I heard a cracking sound."

"Yeah…but I'm not hurt," he repeated, blinking warily. He needed sleep. He needed somewhere to sit down and think about what had just happened. The other boys were staring at him in complete shock, probably wondering what other tricks Kenny McCormick could pull out his sleeve.

He didn't fight when the ambulance arrived and his friends insisted he go to the hospital. He just climbed into the ambulance, ignoring the puzzled looks of the paramedics when Stan tried to explain what had happened without making himself sound completely crazy. He refused to answer any questions and just stared outside until the paramedics reached for the doors.

The last thing he caught sighed of was the half-empty vodka bottle lying forgotten on the side of the pavement. Then the doors closed and he couldn't see the outside anymore.

00000

And that's the end of this chapter. A new mystery has revealed itself! What will Kenny do next? How is Stan and Kyle's relationship going to develop? Will Cartman ever lose weight? Where am I going with all of this?

Please review!


	15. You Still Alive, Kenny?

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the South Park characters. I _do _own Adam, Vivian, Arrow, Marcus, Square Jaw, Snakebites and the drug Valexium.

**Notes: **Not much to say. The plot thickens and whatnot, things are getting complicated (like they weren't complicated already) but believe me, it gets even more twisted in the next few chapters. The next few chapters will probably be super long (to make up for this one actually being quite short in comparison) because I have to start bringing so many storylines together and…well, you'll see.

Only about six chapters left maybe? Depends on how it all works out. It's been progressing slowly thanks to university and essays, but at least the story's getting done. Slowly but surely nearing the 100,000 words mark! Yay!

Plus, has anyone seen the new South Park episodes? I won't mention anything that could spoil the episodes, but I just have to say that they are AWESOME. Love, love, love them!

Please review!

Chapter Fifteen

You Still Alive, Kenny?

The blood pooled onto the edge of the building, some of it dripping onto the floor under his feet. He watched passively as the liquid began to immediately slither onto his shoes, then crawled up his pants and jacket, straight back into the slit in his wrists, which then sealed itself, leaving no trace that it ever existed.

He repeated this action, carving more cuts into his skin and watching as they dripped blood, which then traveled back into the cuts. The cuts healed and it was as if nothing had ever happened. The blood traveled fast. It moved faster the farther it was from his body, as if in a rush to get back into his body.

This was probably the hundredth time he'd injured himself, just to watch his body heal almost immediately. Cuts, bruises, scrapes and even broken bones had healed immediately and although the healing process was almost as painful as being injured, the pain went away quickly enough for it to be bearable.

Despite this, slamming the door on his fingers had been so unpleasant he preferred to avoid another experience like that.

He slipped the razor back into his pocket and took a drag from his cigarette, feeling strangely embarrassed. "Christ, I feel like such an emo."

This new revelation should have been something to be excited about, something that so many people would have wished for. So why wasn't he excited? He wasn't unhappy – there weren't really any drawbacks to this new 'power' – but he wasn't happy either. In his mind, nothing came without a price. So what was the cost of this new power?

At least now he knew what the 'extra' was that Satan had told Marcus to give him. He hadn't given it much thought except sometimes in the moments before falling asleep – but only a stray moment of curiosity. In fact, it had completely slipped from his mind until the events of the day before.

So this was the compensation Satan offered for what he'd gone through. When he'd been younger, he'd have been thrilled with this. Not being able to die, not even being able to have a paper cut – especially considering he always somehow ended up injured or deceased. But with the events of the past few months, things had changed. And now he was worried about his future.

He could hear footsteps behind the door to the roof and familiar voices. The door opened and he turned to see his three friends filing out onto the roof, looking slightly confused. Kenny had called them up here without telling them why, so it was only natural they were a bit confused.

"Why the hell are we meeting up here, Kenny? This place reeks," Cartman complained almost immediately.

"I need somewhere where no one could overhear us. The playground's packed and there's always a chance of someone walking in on us in one of the classrooms," Kenny said cryptically.

"Walking in on what?"

"Walking in on this."

Their eyes bulged when he took his cigarette and pressed the burning end directly into his palm, ignoring the sharp pain and the sizzling noise that accompanied it. When he dropped the cigarette there was a bright red, slightly blackened circle in the middle of his palm.

"Kenny, _what the hell_?"

"Aw, dude, _gross_!"

"What the hell are you doing?"

He put up his injured hand to stop their protests and watched their looks of astonishment as the circle immediately began to shrink until nothing was there, not even a scar. The only remnant of his injury was a slight pinkish hue, which eventually faded.

Cartman grabbed his hand – earning a surprised yelp – and twisted it so he could get a better look.

"Damn it, Cartman, let go!"

"Holy shit, dudes, it's totally healed! We could make some serious profit out of this."

"How typical," Kenny muttered, snatching his hand away. "All you ever think about is money."

"Let me see." Stan also took his hand, albeit more gently than Cartman, and studied the area where the mark had been. "I hate to say it, but Cartman's right. We could make some money out of this and buy some awesome video games! Or maybe we could go on a trip somewhere. New York, maybe?" He was obviously getting excited.

Kenny rolled his eyes, but couldn't stop himself from smiling. This was like all the other times they'd tried to make money using some stupid idea. The most prominent one in his mind was when they had tried to become a Peruvian flute band. He was pretty sure that Craig was still bitter about that incident, though he never mentioned it.

"Does it work for broken bones as well?" Kyle asked, reaching for his hand.

"Yeah. I broke three of my fingers and they healed immediately. Though honestly, the healing hurts way more than the breaking. It was even worse than being hit by a bus, because I was anticipating the pain."

"So that's what happened. I _knew _I heard a cracking sound, but you didn't even have a scratch."

"We could go on TV, like those talk shows for weirdoes or something…" Cartman was still thinking about how to make money. "People could pay to see him do freaky shit."

"How did this happen?"

"Satan kind of…gave me something 'extra' when I came back. A bit like compensation for everything I've had to go through, considering I wasn't even supposed to die in the first place."

The other three stared at him as if he were some wise man, who knew all the ins and outs of the universe. He supposed that compared to them, his knowledge of the afterlife was much more impressive.

"Look, it doesn't matter _how _I got this. What matters is what I'm going to do now."

"What the hell do you mean? This is _awesome_," Kyle said excitedly. "You're totally immortal. You can do whatever the hell you want without worrying about dying! You could go…skydiving without a parachute! And you could make money off of it!"

"Ow, that's going to hurt like hell," Kenny muttered, but their excitement was catching. He _did _like the idea of making money. Not to mention the pain was only fleeting – he could handle pain anyway. He'd had to for most of his life anyway. "But I _do _really want the new playstation…"

"This is _sweet_. Before you were immortal, and now you're like _super _immortal." Cartman put his hand on Kenny's shoulder. "Kenny, I've decided that I'm going to be your manager. I will do all the work for you, you will just have to sit back and have the crap beaten out of you numerous times. I promise you…twenty percent of the profits."

Kenny laughed:

"Screw you asshole. You'll be lucky if I give you ten percent. And anyway, I want all three of you to be my managers. Then we can split the profits and go to Casa Bonita or something."

"Totally, dude!"

Cartman and Kenny high-fived enthusiastically, while the other two began to list the numerous ways they could rip off innocent citizens and what they would buy with the money they made.

The blond stopped them before they could get over-the-top with their reactions. "Look, there's still some stuff I'm not sure about. Like, I don't know if I'm completely invincible. I haven't tried chopping off any limbs. Maybe they don't grow back or something. Or maybe it's just non-fatal injuries that heal. Though I'm not sure I want to test-"

His next words were cut off when Cartman pushed him off the roof. He dropped like a rock through the air, hitting the ground several storeys below.

Dude, what the _fuck?_"

"Cartman, holy shit-"

Kyle and Stan were torn between shock and anger. They stared over the edge, then back at Cartman, then over the edge again. Kyle looked ready to lunge at him.

"Jeez, relax guys, I'm just testing," Cartman said, putting up his two hands and looking innocent. "I'm sure he's _fine._" He leaned over the edge of the roof. "You still alive, _Kenneh_?"

"YOU SON OF A BIIIIITCH!"

"See, I told you. He's totally fine."

00000

"You have to stop what you're doing."

Kenny didn't reply, only stared in disbelief at Satan, who was standing in front of him. Satan, the Devil, was standing in his room. There was something wrong with this situation. How did he even fit inside Kenny's room?

"Um…what? Doing what?" he managed, not really sure what to say. "Why are you…here? In my bedroom."

Satan slammed his fist against the new desk Kenny had bought the other day. The blond jumped back, startled. He stared at the devil apprehensively, not sure if he should be scared or not.

"I need you to _stop _showing off your new powers! There are rulesabout things like these. Even _I_ can't go around giving people invincibility whenever I want. Not without consequences."

"You have to follow rules?" Kenny said faintly.

"Of course I do! Even God has to follow some fundamental rules, just so things don't go fucking insane! And _you_, with your screwing around and showing off to everyone how you're invincible, are going to cause trouble if you don't end it! _Do you hear me, you little bastard?_"

Kenny yelped when his collar was grabbed and he came face-to-face with Satan, their noses almost touching. Satan's body was radiating an uncomfortable amount of heat and he struggled to get away, yelling:

"Okay, okay! I got it! I'll stop, just let me go! Damn it, I said I'll stop!"

He felt the grip loosen and jumped back, panting and out of breath. He felt a twinge of annoyance, knowing that he would have to end his little performances. It was a pity, because things had been looking up for a while.

Cartman, being the ever-efficient moneymaker, had immediately signed him up to everything he could think of in the past few weeks. Kenny had gone into boxing rings, wrestling matches, freak shows and even on TV eventually. Only a small, unknown television talk show, but his popularity had been growing. More and more people had started calling up to challenge the newest champion, to see it anyone stood a chance against the apparently immortal Kenny McCormick.

People in school had made bets as to whether his limbs would grow back and, although worried about trying it in the beginning, he'd chopped off a finger only to watch it reattach itself.

He'd sued a construction company when Cartman had stolen an electric drill and plunged it through his hand on the site. They'd had to twist a few facts and he'd had to keep the drill in his hand to show the doctor (it had _hurt_ like a motherfucker) and then bribe the doctor to lie when the wound had healed immediately, but all-in-all they'd made a lot of money. It had taken a lot time to access that money, since his parents had been intent on spending it all on booze.

Some part of him, some subconscious part of his mind, knew that he was punishing himself. The invincibility didn't mean that he was free from all pain and he was becoming more and more creative in ways to harm his body. What did it matter? It wasn't like he could permanently hurt himself. It all healed anyway.

His friends thought that he was just doing it for the kicks and the cash, that he was just taking advantage of his newfound powers. None of them suspected that every deliberate hit, every purposeful moment of pain was a manifestation of his current self-loathing and loneliness.

Then there was the profit, of course. It didn't hurt that he was making money off people who apparently liked to see him hurt himself. Within a day, he'd managed to make enough to buy the newest game console, which he shared with his friends. Cartman had been exceptionally nice to him these past few days. Not to mention this all provided a good distraction, something to keep his mind off Damien.

"If it makes you happy, then I'll stop telling people I'm immortal. And I'll stop…doing those shows and stuff as well. I'll keep it under wraps," he said reluctantly, straightening his shirt. Satan had a strong grip, not surprisingly. "You could've just asked nicely."

Satan rolled his eyes. "You're not immortal, you idiot. You will heal from all wounds, but it doesn't mean you can't die."

"So I…I'm still going to die eventually?" Kenny asked, his voice tainted with uncertainty. He hadn't been looking forward to the thought that he'd have to watch all his friends and loved ones die. Invulnerability was great, but immortality? It didn't make him immune to grief.

"Yes, when you reach a certain age you will die peacefully and painlessly in your sleep. You can't die before that, no matter how much you try," Satan answered gruffly. His expression transformed into one of irritation again. "But that doesn't mean you can go around showing off about things like this. I thought that you of all people would know better than that."

Kenny was too dazed with relief to even hear what he was saying.

He was still going to die! He wasn't immortal, he was still going to die and once he was dead he could go see Damien again!

He frowned when a sudden thought occurred. What if when he died he was all old and decrepit and thoroughly un-sexy? He knew that Damien would be able to stay looking young if he chose. He aged naturally, unlike dead people in Hell, but he could choose to look younger if he so wanted.

He shrugged off the worry. He was sure Damien could make him look young and sexy again if he wanted. He was the son of the devil, after all. He had lots of powers.

He could see Satan beginning to fade away and put up his hand to stop in a reflexive movement of stupidity and desperation:

"_Wait!_"

Satan paused, amazingly enough, and shot him an annoyed and confused look. "What? I don't have time for this."

"H-how's Damien?"

Satan's eyes narrowed slightly. There was a moment when Kenny thought he wasn't going to answer, but there was something in the devil's eyes…was that pity? After a moment of awkwardness he finally answered:

"Forget about Damien. You won't be seeing him again."

Kenny felt his blood run cold. "W-what do you mean?"

"Damien is banned from coming to Earth, whether it is to see you, or to do anything else. And even when you die, you will be sent to a level of Hell that even my son isn't able to access. It's his punishment for defying me. So if I were you, I wouldn't hold my breath. But don't worry; time heals all wounds eventually."

And then he disappeared, leaving the room colder than it was before. It had all been too quick for Kenny to react so he couldn't do much more than stare at the spot where the devil had once stood.

He didn't know what to feel, what to do. He'd already grieved so much, so how was it possible to feel even _more _pain? How was it possible to lose even more hope, to wallow even more in the bleakness of his existence? He couldn't feel anything but numbness as he lay down on his bed, mind blank and ears buzzing. He didn't notice his fingers gripping his blanket tightly or his whole body trembling violently. He could really feel much of anything anymore.

Maybe it was better this way – it was better to just shut off all emotions. To just shut off all the pain and stop hurting. He didn't make any conscious decision to do it, but simply allowed himself to drift into a blissful deadened state and stay there.

After all, he thought vaguely, weakly, it was better to feel nothing than to only feel pain.

00000

Kyle didn't even blink when Kenny fell onto the ground ungracefully, landing on his back with a loud _'oomf!_'. The blond stared up at him in shock and confusion, which was probably the most real emotion Kyle had seen him show in the past few weeks. For a second he seemed to be awake, brow creasing in puzzlement. Then his eyes glazed over and he stared at the Jew with a blank expression.

"What was that for?" he said.

"You _know _what that was for," Kyle snapped, helping him up roughly. There was no real venom in his voice, only disappointment. "We're sick of this, Kenny. We're tired of you pretending that you don't care anymore. And we're tired of seeing you _try _so hard to pretend like everything's okay. Because it's not fucking working."

"I'm not pretending, Kyle. I've moved on."

"No, you haven't. You're in pain."

"I'm not in pain. I'm fine, so just drop it."

"You're in denial-"

"I'm not in fucking denial. I'm completely fine, so would you just _shut up?_" Kenny snapped, pushing his friend back violently. Then stopped, swearing as he realized that he'd completely contradicted himself. Kyle felt a twinge of satisfaction at finally having pushed him to feel some real anger, to have dropped that mask he had worn for so many weeks.

"The Jewrat's right, _Kenneh_. You're like a complete zombie all the time. It's lame, and totally boring," Cartman said. It was obvious that he was concerned, although he hid it behind his words.

Kenny sighed tiredly, flopping onto the bench next to him. They were at Stark's Pond, just hanging out in general and chatting. Kenny had joined the conversation but, like the weeks before, his voice had been lifeless and monotone. It was obvious to his friends that he was trying, but it was a failed attempt. They could all see through his act.

Even Cartman was making an effort to try and cheer him up by inviting him over to play video games or taking him out to KFC or the arcade. Kenny would either politely reject his offer, or accept and then barely talk during the whole time the boys were together. His cheerfulness and enthusiasm was always forced and he refused to talk about what was bothering him.

Only Kyle knew the full reasoning behind why he was so unhappy. Kenny had appeared at his doorstep a few weeks ago, blank-faced with tears running down his cheeks. The blond had explained to him in a scarily monotone voice what Satan had told him, the only thing betraying his emotions were the tears. Kyle had been genuinely terrified in that moment as he watched his friend's expressionless face. There was no trace of the Kenny he knew, the Kenny he cared about. All that was left was an empty shell, walking around like a zombie.

"Look, what do you want from me? So I'm not skipping around and singing freaking show tunes all the time. At least I'm _trying _to be happy. It's better than Stan when he went through his lame emo-goth phase," Kenny said, frustrated.

"Hey!"

"That's true," Kyle and Cartman said together.

"Hey!"

"Come on, Stan. At least Kenny isn't writing crappy emo poetry and dying his hair black and drinking coffee and acting like a complete pussy. You have to admit, that was a pretty stupid thing to do."

"Heheh, only you could ever be that lame, Stan."

"Shut up, Cartman. At least I didn't put Butters' penis in my mouth and show it to the whole class."

Cartman shrieked in anger and the others boys sniggered – even Kenny, who seemed to have woken up somewhat from being punched. Ignoring their fat friend's angry accusations and spluttered explanations, Kyle sat next to the blond, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"We're not mad at you for being sad, Kenny. We're mad because you're trying to pretend you're not. We're your friends, and we want to be there for you if you're grieving. Even Cartman. Don't shut us out because we don't understand what you're going through. Even if we don't understand, we still want to be here to listen and help you. That's what friends do," Kyle explained. "So just…be Kenny. Even if that means you're an asshole because you're unhappy and you get mad at us, it's better than you walking around like a zombie and acting like you don't care about yourself or us."

Kenny stared at him for a while, obviously thinking hard about what he had just been told. Then, when Kyle finally thought that maybe his words had been ineffective, that maybe Kenny was just lost to them, he sighed and shook his head. "God, you suck, Broflovski. You can't let up even for a second, can you?"

Kyle laughed. "So that means…"

"Yeah, I'll stop being a moody bitch. I…I'm not angry, or whatever. I guess it's just not easy finding anything fun after what happened. But you're right - I've stopped living. And that's just stupid. I…should stop pretending that I care, and actually start caring. I've been trying to show you guys that I'm okay, but I'm really not. I guess I just couldn't…accept the fact that thing still sucked. But from now on, I'll try to move on," he said shakily, punching Kyle in the shoulder.

"Jeez, Kenny, you sound like such a girl," Cartman said, finally letting go of his fight with Stan.

"Screw you, Cartman. I challenge you to a game of basketball! My house, right now! Then we'll see who's the girl!"

Stan 'ooohed' mockingly at Cartman, who immediately short back a retort. It was obvious that he was delighted to have his best friend back, and Kyle couldn't stop a small smile creeping onto his face. Well, it was progress, and Kenny was _trying _to make things up to them.

"I'll meet you guys there in an hour – my mom needs me to babysit Ike while she goes to her book club. But I'll be there," he said.

"Awesome, I can show you my sweet new moves," Cartman crowed, walking off with Kenny towards the McCormick household. Stan, a triumphant grin on his face, squeezed Kyle's hand and kissed him on the lips.

"See you, Kyle. Don't be late. It's not as much fun without Cartman bitching at you for blocking his shots." He left, and Kyle had to take a second to recover from the fact that his lips were tingling like crazy. He felt like a complete girl when he turned around, brushing his lips with his fingers.

Even when he arrived at home, he couldn't keep the cheerful smile off his face. When his mom asked him why he was so happy, he just mumbled some lame excuse and went to go watch TV with his brother, who also commented on how he looked like a moron.

As much as he wanted to ditch his brother and go play basketball with the others – Ike was a genius that could take care of himself – he stayed there for about 45 minutes before his mom finally returned. He tried to rush off but she stopped him and demanded that he clean his room. Thankfully, he was already relatively neat and only had to organize the pile of papers on the ground.

Then he left his house, zipping up his coat and losing himself in his thoughts as he walked. He reached the area where Kenny lived and stopped, wondering where the basketball court was. They usually used the one that was farther away as it was better quality, but too often it had been occupied with 6th and 7th graders in the past few weeks and although the four boys were older, they were hideously outnumbered.

He was nearing Kenny's house when he heard a shout:

"Shuddup, Jim! He took my job!"

Kyle looked up, spotting the three boys playing behind one of the houses. They were three hillbilly teens that he had seen around the neighborhood once in a while. All of them were dumb as bricks and all they did was sit around and smoke and take drugs. Even Kenny, who was more used to this part of town that his friends, couldn't stand them. He said that they were always breaking things and making noise and trying to shoot the domesticated animals around town.

He paused as he noticed one of them was holding a shotgun while the other two admired it, expressing their awe quite loudly. He was pretty sure that the gun didn't belong to any of them – then again, it _was_ South Park and he wouldn't be surprised if they were selling guns to underage kids now.

Kyle sighed and rolled his eyes, heading over to Kenny's house. He knocked on the door and waited, hands in his pockets. When the door opened, he found himself face to face with Carol McCormick.

"Oh, hello, Kyle. Kenny's playing basketball with Stan and Eric right now. You'll probably find them at the basketball court."

"Cool. Thanks Mrs. McCormick."

He headed back to where the boys were, grimacing as he realized that he was going to have to walk past those stupid redneck teens. He didn't want to go near them – they were probably going to make fun of him and tease him and maybe even wave that stupid gun at him. It was going to be such a drag to try to convince them to let him pass without any trouble.

He could hear them speaking and slowed, listening to what they were saying and watching them.

"Come on, _Billy!_ Gimme the gun!"

"Shuddup, Duke. He's giving me the gun next, right Billy?"

Billy, in a complete move of stupidity that made Kyle cringe, tossed the gun to his friend roughly. Duke laughed as he caught the gun, fingers inches away from the trigger.

"This yer brother's gun?"

"Nah. I bawrd it from mah paw," Billy said. His accent was so thick Kyle could barely understand what he was saying. "It drives mah maw crazy, but he won't get rid of it."

"We should go 'round and make some dumbass kids steal booze for us." This was Jim who spoke.

"Bam bam!" Duke yelled drunkenly, laughing and waving the shotgun around at his friend. "Yer under arrest!" He stopped, leaning over and laughing hysterically as his friend, equally as drunk, shrieked and began flailing around playfully.

"Don't shoot! Don't shoot!"

Idiots.

Kyle wondered if he should just go around the other way, but he could see Stan, Cartman and Kenny playing basketball quite a distance away. This was the only shortcut he knew that didn't involve wading through the garbage in between houses or trespassing into someone's backyard.

"Hey, you wanna-"

"Excuse me-" Kyle interrupted them, walking forward.

"_Son of a-!_"

He jumped in shock as Duke accidentally pulled the trigger and the noise reverberated in his ears. The hillbillies jumped and howled, dropping the cans of beer they had been holding.

"Billy, yeh said it wasn't loaded!" Duke yelled, panicking.

"I didn't think you was gonna _shoot _someone!"

Kyle felt pain blossoming in his chest and as he looked down, he saw a strange dark color spreading over his shirt. He frowned, then lifted his fingers to touch the stain. His fingers came away sticky with some sort of red substance.

_Is that…no, it can't be…_

"Fuck, we gotta get outta here! Before the poh-lice come!"

"But what about him? Whadda we gonna do about him?"

_Oh God…it's blood…why is there blood? Is it my blood?_

"_Leave him!"_

The stain was growing bigger, but the pain was receding. He knew that this was strange – surely it should be hurting even more, right? But he couldn't really think properly with the darkness edging into his vision.

He could see Stan, Cartman and Kenny still playing, unaware of what was happening. He opened his mouth, trying to call out to them, but it was useless. He couldn't speak, couldn't do anything except fall forward onto the ground.

_Stan…help me…I think I'm…_

The pain faded completely and then he felt…nothing.

_Stan…_


	16. Blood On The Crown

**Notes: **Whew! Writing this story is absolutely exhausting. This started as something not so big, then just turned into a monster of a story. There are so many different perspectives and it's getting so convoluted and crazy. I've even ended up creating my own type of Hell with its own rules and it's just gone out of my hands and now I'm even trying to conform to the rules of this new world. It's all very tiring, but so worth it.

Only a couple more chapters to go (which means a couple more months at the rate I'm going right now) before we reach the end! I hope you guys are still having fun reading the story, but I have to say that when I started this, I never imagined how long it would take, or how long it would turn out to be. I'm almost at 100,000 words and it's not even the end yet.

Forgive any mistakes made – I take so long to write the chapters that I completely forget what's going on in the story. Hopefully there's nothing major. If there is please point it out so I can change it.

Please review! I totally want to hit the 100 reviews mark for this story before it ends, and I can't do that unless you guys help me out!

Chapter Sixteen

Blood On The Crown

The thermos was trembling in his hands, coffee close to spilling everywhere. Tweek bit his lip, placing it roughly onto the table and looking guilty when some of the coffee spilled onto his tray of food.

"_Ngh_ – sorry!" he spluttered.

"Mm…'s fine." Craig barely glanced up from his tray. He was slowly shoveling food into his mouth, eyes staring blankly ahead. The other two were just as silent and subdued. The entire cafeteria was buzzing softly, most people glancing over at the trio sitting hunched over their meals in the corner.

Stan obviously hadn't even touched his food, forehead resting on the table and eyes closed, as if he were sleeping. Tweek was pretty sure that the jock hadn't slept since his boyfriend had died. The bags under his eyes were a tell-tale sign of his lack of sleep and his stress. He walked around like a zombie, uncaring of everything that was happening around him. It was a bit like Kenny had been before, except he wasn't even pretending to be okay. He genuinely seemed to be unaware of everything that was happening around him.

Even Cartman hadn't eaten his lunch for a few days, simply stared at it, looking a little disoriented. He had lost his outlet – his object of mockery. Tweek had noticed him verbally abusing Butters quite a bit, but it wasn't the same. The blond just took it, never answering back and sometimes even agreeing. He didn't put up a fight like Kyle did.

"Why's Kenny doing that?" Clyde asked suddenly. Like Tweek, he was staring at the trio.

Tweek watched the poor boy, who was stuffing his face with his own food and the food of the other two. His movements were robotic, but his face was tight with misery. He obviously wasn't hungry either, but seemed to have some sort of desperate need to fill his stomach.

"Probably just trying to distract himself."

"He's gonna – _gah!_ – choke if he keeps eating like that," Tweek stammered. "He can't die too! That's just _– ngh – _too much death! I can't handle that!"

"Chill out, dude. He's not gonna choke."

They ate in silence once again for a few more minutes. Finally, Clyde spoke up:

"Did you guys see Stan at the funeral? The guy was a mess."

"I'm surprised he even made it. I'm pretty sure that was the first time he even got out of bed after what happened. His parents didn't even know what to do with him," Craig said. "He looks like he weighs half of what he used to."

They lapsed into soft conversation and Tweek resolved to speak to Kenny when lunch was over. He wasn't incredibly close to the three boys, but he was worried for them. Stan was withering away, Cartman was slowly but surely drifting away from them and spending more time with Butters and Kenny was acting strangely bipolar – bouncing between severe depression and eager attempts to get the other two to do something at least semi-enjoyable. It was as if he were torn between trying to move on or just stay where he was.

Once lunch was over he tentatively approached Kenny. He stopped next to his locker, where the boy was taking out his books for the next class. He seemed to be settled into a moody state at the moment. Tweek muttered a quick greeting, still unsure of whether he should be here.

"Oh. Hey Tweek," Kenny said, sparing him a quick glance.

"K-Kenny. How are you?"

"Shit. You?" Before Tweek could answer, he continued. "Look, Tweek. I wanted to apologize for what happened at Token's pool party. I mean, before that." It took a few seconds for the twitchy caffeine addict to understand what he was talking about. Then an image of Craig's guilty face and his subdued confession crossed his mind and he remembered.

Right, they had kissed. Multiple times.

He felt a pang of hurt, then quickly pushed it aside. Even if he was still mad about that – which he wasn't, considering how much Craig had apologized – now wasn't really the time to yell at Kenny for it. He would just have to push down his feelings about that incident and forget about it. Hating Craig was just going to hurt both himself and his obviously ashamed best friend. And hating Kenny was just cruel considering what the blond was going through right now.

"It's – _ngh_ – fine. I mean, it's not fine b-but – _gah!_ – forget about it," he said. Kenny nodded, turning back to his locker.

Tweek recognized the symptoms of sleeplessness easily – he himself barely got any sleep on a regular basis. Kenny was obviously tired, but strangely enough more animated than before Kyle's death.

"Y-You look better than b-before." He twitched, realizing how that sounded. "I-I mean, not _– erk_ – better, but not as-"

The blond sighed, smiling weakly. "I know what you mean, Tweek. Kyle and the others talked to me…a few hours before…you know. Pretty much told me I was being an idiot and a zombie, pretending like everything was okay when it wasn't. I guess that it just kind of knocked me back into reality. After Kyle died…well, I wasn't just going to forget what he said and go back to how I was before." He paused, looking despairing. "It's not working, is it?"

"It's t-_too much pressure_ for you! Nobody blames you for acting a l-little strange."

"I just…can't decide how to act, heh. I promised Kyle I wouldn't pretend like everything was fine, wouldn't walk around like I didn't care anymore. And now I don't know how to act," Kenny confessed. "I don't want to pretend, but if I don't pretend then my emotions just go all over the place."

"_Ngh_…that sucks," Tweek said. His friend shrugged and closed the locker door. "Is Stan all right?"

"No. He's pretty much on the verge of suicide. If anything else happens I'm pretty sure it'll tip him over the edge."

He turned to leave and Tweek cleared his throat, wanting to stop him. He gathered up the courage to ask him something he'd wanted to ask since Kenny had first arrived. Somewhere in the back of his mind he had buried this question, not sure whether he dared to ask. But there never seemed to be the right time.

"Yes, Tweek?"

"Umm…_erk_…are you…are you happy now that you're alive again?" he blurted. Kenny's brow furrowed in confusion.

"What? Happy? Like, right now?"

"N-No. Not after Kyle…_died_. But I mean…you didn't – _gah!_ – seem very happy to be back. Even when you first arrived, it was like you were…p-pretending to be okay."

The blond stared at him, expressionless and Tweek worried that he'd stepped over the line.

"Argh! I'm sorry! I shouldn't have asked you-"

"No."

"Eh?"

"I'm not happy," Kenny answered flatly. "I was happy before I died. I was happy during death. I'm not happy anymore. And I'm not sure I ever will be." He turned to leave, lifting his hand in a half-wave. "See ya, Tweek."

Sometimes it was better to not ask questions.

00000

"What the hell am I supposed to do now?"

Kyle was frustrated. He had been frustrated for the past few days. Granted, things weren't so terrible considering his situation could be a lot worse. At least he had a place to stay, someone he knew and could talk to. Well, technically he knew two people in this house but one of them was currently being a stubborn asshole so that didn't really count.

Hell wasn't as terrible as he expected on a personal level. It wasn't comfortable to look out and see the zombies on the streets or catch glimpses of people with hideous disfigurations or scars on their bodies, but seeing them just made the Jew glad that he wasn't currently suffering his own torture. The worst thing for him at the moment was just the thought that he might never see some of his friends again, or at least not for several years.

He shifted on his stool, body hunched over the table in the middle of the kitchen. He missed Stan.

Thinking about the dark-haired boy made his chest clench and he sighed, face tight with misery. The pain of his losses hadn't lessened with time – in fact, they'd grown. He missed Kenny and his parents and his sister…God forbid sometimes he closed his eyes, wishing silently to hear the fatass ripping on his beliefs. There would be nothing but silence, or the screams of the tortured souls out in the distance.

But most of all, he missed his super best friend and lover. He missed his Stan.

He was pretty sure that if Chef hadn't been here he would have been a nervous wreck, crying alone in a room and refusing to eat, sleep or even function properly. As it was, he spent most of his time in the kitchen, crying to Chef, forcing himself to eat Chef's food and sleeping on the chairs, slumped over the table.

"Aw, Kyle, I know things are difficult now, but they'll get better. You just have to be patient," Chef said in his deep voice. He placed a plate of food in front of the redhead, who wasn't really hungry but pulled it towards him anyway. Chef then placed a plate in front of the other man facing Kyle.

"Thanks, Chef," Adam said casually, digging into the food with clear enthusiasm. "So, Kyle, was it? What brings you here?"

The bartender had appeared a few minutes ago, looking for Kenny and Damien to go chill somewhere. Instead he'd found a despondent Kyle who was mourning his own death and complaining to Chef. He'd taken Kyle's advice not to search out the son of Satan and remained in the kitchen, waiting for Chef to finish cooking his spaghetti bolognaise.

"Got shot by some idiot rednecks."

"Ah. That'll do it." Adam sighed, shaking his head. "I never did like guns much. Always preferred fighting with my fists, you know?"

"Yeah. It was a pretty shit death."

They ate silently for a few minutes with only Chef's humming in the background. Adam went for another helping of spaghetti and once he began to eat again he spoke:

"So, where the hell is Kenny anyway? He didn't tell me he was going anywhere, but I haven't seen the guy for weeks."

Kyle hesitated, not sure how much he wanted to reveal. Kenny had told him that Damien was in a lot of trouble for what he'd done and that no one was allowed to know because technically, he was supposed to be in a lot_ more_ trouble than he was right now.

"Kenny's…sort of back to life right now."

Adam stared at him, stunned into silence. Kyle felt uncomfortable under his stare so he continued:

"He's been alive for the past few weeks, actually-"

"What the hell has he got on Satan?"

"Excuse me?"

Adam shook his head, pushing his pasta away. "_Nobody_, and I mean, _nobody_, gets resurrected unless they've got dirt on Satan or unless he owes them something. Even when he was the pussy-ass loser dating Saddam Hussein he didn't go around resurrecting people left and right. That shit's _intense_. Most people who get brought back to life either blackmailed Satan, were only in Hell by mistake or were just…lucky, I guess."

Kyle snorted. "Yeah, lucky. I'm pretty sure Kenny wouldn't agree with me that he's quite so _lucky_. He's like a walking zombie."

"Well, you didn't see him and Damien together. I'm pretty sure the two of them feel worse than death right now, no pun intended. It's gonna take more than a few months for them to recover, if they ever do." Neither of them noticed that Chef had left the kitchen, closing the door behind him.

"Damien seems recovered. At least, enough to be a complete asshole."

"Huh? What do you mean?"

So Kyle relayed him the happenings of the past few weeks:

_His arrival in Hell hadn't been what he'd expected – though to be honest he hadn't ever really imagined what arriving in Hell was like. Somewhere in the back of his mind he'd assumed that he would just land in a fiery pit of lava or something like that. Kenny's descriptions of Hell weren't very vivid; he'd been more interested in talking about his relationship with Damien to Kyle, who'd listened carefully. _

_Arriving in an airport terminal had been a little bit disorienting and before he'd been able to right himself some strange looking creatures in security guard uniforms had taken him and dragged him over to the "Bullet Wound" section, which was crowded with tons of people just as confused as him. _

_After a few torturous days of just sitting and waiting and watching and hearing people get tortured on the huge screens – a highly traumatizing experiencing in his opinion – he'd finally been shoved through the detectors (he was pretty sure they weren't metal detectors, though he hadn't figured out what they were built for) and pushed onto the streets with nothing but the clothes he'd died in. _

_Dying wasn't really a concern in Hell, Kyle obviously knew, but it didn't mean that you couldn't suffer from the pain of starvation or thirst either. His first few days outside the Terminal had been filled with him wandering around, begging for food and trying to keep away the zombies that obviously hungered for his flesh. None of them had been strong enough to hurt him, but instead they'd been waiting, watching for when he'd be too weak to stand before overcoming him. _

_In a strange turn of luck he'd walked across a group of teenagers, smoking and drinking and talking loudly about Satan and his mansion. One of them had held his hands as far apart as possible:_

"_Their television was like this big! And that was just in the guest room."_

_One of his friends had snorted. "Bull shit. What the hell were you doing in Satan's house?"_

"_I know his kid…well, sorta. I know a friend who knows his kid, what's-his-name, Damien, and he let us stay over his place. We had to stay in the guest bedroom, and he let his buddy sleep in his room, ya know?" he'd said, winking suggestively. _

"_Clarence is telling the truth. I also met up with them on that night, when they were out partying. Damien was with some blond dude and the two of them were clearly hooking up every time they walked off together. I can't remember his name…Kenny something-or-other."_

_Kyle's ears had immediately perked up and he'd inwardly smacked himself for being such a moron. Of course! Damien was here!_

_He'd gotten directions from the rowdy teens and headed off, a lot more energized than he'd been since arriving in Hell. Perhaps if he hadn't been so starved and delirious he would have recognized that trotting off to the house of one of your best friend's ex-boyfriends, also the son of Satan and said best friend's murderer, wasn't the best idea. Considering how badly Kenny had reacted to the break up, he couldn't imagine how Damien was reacting considering he was the one who'd been dumped and left behind. _

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Adam said, holding up a hand marred with shiny fish scales. "Are you telling me that you just went up to Damien _knowing _that Kenny had dumped his ass?"

"Like I said – I was starving and desperate. I wasn't really thinking clearly," Kyle muttered, trying to defend himself. In retrospect, the idea _had _been stupid. Or it would have been to any reasonable person. "And it all worked out, anyway. I'm here, aren't I?"

"Yeah, I guess…but why did Kenny even break up with Damien in the first place?"

There was an uncomfortable silence while Kyle quickly scrabbled for a reason. "Um…irreconcilable differences." And before Adam could comment, he continued with his story:

"_Kyle? How the fuck did _you _die?" _

_Those first words hadn't been very welcoming but at least Damien had recognized him at first glance. The boy had let him in without so much as a smile or a frown, merely stared at him with a blank, cold expression while he'd explained what had happened. Throughout his entire story not a single emotion had passed across the boy's face, and that was what had worried Kyle the most. _

"_Can I please stay here for a bit? Just until I figure out how things work…"_

_For one terrible minute Kyle had been sure that Damien was going to kick him back out onto the street. But instead the son of Satan shrugged, uncaring, and told him to do whatever the hell he wanted to do as long as he stayed out of his way. The threat had been clear and intimidating. _

_He'd tried to talk to Damien a few times, without really bothering him, making sure to only talk when the boy wasn't busy. These times were rare, and their conversations became rarer and fewer especially when Kyle tried to bring up the topic of Damien's ex boyfriend. _

_Kyle had attempted to tell Damien of Kenny's suffering, not really sure what he was trying to accomplish. From what Kenny had told him, he and Damien were never going to see each other again. _

"What? Why?" Adam interrupted once again. Kyle looked at him patiently. It had been so long since he'd had a proper chat with anyone but Chef, he wasn't anywhere close to losing his temper.

"Satan didn't exactly approve of their relationship," he managed as smoothly as he could. Telling this story was difficult considering there were so many things he wasn't sure he was allowed to reveal. "Probably something to do with Damien going soft, you know?"

Adam looked disturbed and slightly suspicious. "Yeah…I guess…"

_The first few times he tried, Damien just rolled his eyes, said he didn't give a shit and walked away. Kyle hadn't pushed him, but he'd waited a few days before bringing up the subject. One day, Damien finally snapped:_

"_Look, shut the fuck up, okay?" _

_Kyle had immediately clammed up, feeling fearful. _

"_I don't give a fuck about what Kenny's doing or how he's feeling. Kenny was nothing but a fuck buddy to me and that's all he ever will be. So just shut up about him, will you?" he had yelled, his voice cracking ever so slightly. Even through his mask of intense anger, Kyle had seen the distressed look in his eyes and knew that he was hiding behind his emotions. _

"_Kenny still loves you," he had said bravely. In the ensuing silence, he'd continued. "He'd forgive you…maybe not now, but he misses you enough to realize that he couldn't hate you for what you did. And he couldn't stay away from you forever."_

_He'd found himself on the floor, Damien's shaking hand gripping his collar. He'd never been so scared in his entire…life or death or everything he'd experienced. He said nothing, terrified that he'd pushed too far, that he was going to be punished for eternity for being defiant. From the black, furious look on the son of Satan's face, he was completely screwed. _

"_If you _ever_ mention him again, I will rip you to shreds and throw you out for the zombies to devour. And believe me, Jew, you will _still_ feel pain when you're being digested in the stomachs of hundreds of mindless corpses. Don't forget you're in Hell, and I am one of the most powerful beings in the underworld. So don't fuck with me."_

"Since then I've avoided him," Kyle said, shuddering slightly. He hadn't enjoyed reliving the memory of his confrontation with Damien. "He's nothing like Kenny described him. I wasn't sure what to expect, but it wasn't that."

"Well, things are a little different from the time Kenny was here and the present. I've never heard of Damien acting like this – I mean, he was never an angel but he was a pretty decent guy, if not a bit of a loner," Adam muttered thoughtfully. "He's probably just messed up over what happened between him and Kenny. It you'd seen them together, you'd understand."

Kyle snorted. "Oh, I understand plenty. I've been around Kenny for the past few weeks. He's a mess." He was pretty sure that him dying wasn't going to help matters and he felt a twinge of sadness of his friend. Just when they'd managed to get through to Kenny, _this _had to happen.

"I can tell you're hiding stuff from me, but I won't press the issue. What I will tell you is this: in the next few days, something _big _is going to happen. Anytime now. People are getting agitated and everyone's on edge. We're not sure exactly what's going to happen, but we know it's going to be intense."

"Is that what I've been feeling lately?" He had been experiencing some strange things in the past few days. Mainly just passing sensations that put him on edge, made him jumpy and paranoid. "I haven't been able to sleep or even sit still for the past few days. I figured it was normal down here."

"Nah, something's up. I'm pretty sure Damien's heavily involved in it – probably the cause of it – and I'm just going to tell you now, Kyle, that when that something happens I want you to come find me," Adam said somberly.

"You? Why?"

"Kenny's my friend, and you're Kenny's friend. So I'm going to make sure nothing happens to you because I owe Kenny that much. I'll give you the address of my bar and you make sure that when everything goes to shit, you find me and I'll help you anyway I can."

00000

"So, why don't you tell me why you're here?"

The man trembled, dropping to his knees immediately and resting his head on the cold tile in a low bow. When he spoke, his voice was timid and shaky, cracking under the pressure of being here:

"Your Majesty…our farms have been ravaged by the great Demon Beast. It set fire to our crops and devoured all of our workers. None of us can handle it and if it isn't stopped…"

"And you expect _me _to take care of that?" Satan said, looking down at the man with contempt. "Don't you think I already have enough on my plate without you coming in and bothering me with these trivial matters?"

"But…your M-Majesty-"

"Tell me, what did you think coming here would achieve?" he interrupted. The poor man stumbled over his words, looking around to the others for support. The men by Satan's side didn't say anything, their faces either expressionless or filled with glee at his struggle. The men crowded behind him all cringed and drew back automatically. "Did you really think I would help you? When I offered to take care of your problems, I was referring to _real _problems. Not these trivial matters. Now get out of my sight, before I send you to the Torturers!"

Within seconds the throne room had cleared and the only people left were the several men by his side – his advisors. He rolled his eyes – _cowards _– and stood up off his throne, stretching. His huge bulk nearly displaced the two men at his side, who merely leaned away.

"I think I'll retire for now. I'm sick of dealing with these people," he said. He reached out in front of him, fingertips touching the crown that was sitting a couple of meters in front of the throne. It was a lavish crown, but it was never to be worn except for when he had first been crowned Ruler of the Underworld.

The door opened, swinging at such a speed that it nearly rocked off its hinges. Satan glanced up in surprise at who would be so daring, then raised his eyebrows.

He had not been expecting his son to be standing at the doorway, his face emotionless and his posture straight as a board.

The boy took a few steps forward, and Satan repressed the urge to step back. There was something _different_ about him. Something _powerful_. It was almost frightening – except Satan was never frightened. _Especially _not of his own son.

He walked back to his throne, then sat down on it, back to the position he had been a couple of minutes ago, looking down on Damien as if he were one of his subjects. He could _feel _the anger radiating from Damien and he would have been so proud of the kid for finally behaving like a true son of the Devil, if it weren't for the fact that the anger was directed towards _him_. He stayed still, not wanting to shift under the burning gaze and show that he was uncomfortable.

Damien ignored him, turning to his advisors. "_Leave_." The order was clear and his voice did not waver, letting them hear the clear warning in his voice. They glanced at Satan, who nodded, and then stood up, hurriedly leaving the throne room. It was obvious that they could feel the power surging through Damien as well, and none of them were stupid enough to remain in the room a second longer than necessary.

Once they were alone, Satan sat back and waited. He had an idea of what this was about, but he was going to wait and see.

"It's time for you to step down, _Dad_."

_Well_, Satan thought with a hint of annoyance, _somebody certainly cut to the chase. _He gripped the sides of the throne tightly, hiding his anger, and simply raised an eyebrow.

"Step down? What do you mean by that, _son_?" His tone was mocking.

"Step down from the throne. Retire. Move aside and let me take my rightful place." The boy smirked. "Piss off."

Satan bristled at his impertinence and bared his teeth. "I think not. You expect to just waltz in here and oust me from my throne without any resistance? You forget whom you're talking to, boy. I am the most powerful being in the Underworld-"

"Correction," Damien interrupted. "You _were_ the most powerful being in the Underworld. But I think that position has been filled by yours truly." Satan froze, feeling a chill run up his spine. "Do you know what I'm talking about? I think you do." His hands began to glow and a slight crackling sound filled the air, like electricity.

Satan stood up slightly, feeling a touch of concern. He hadn't imagined that Damien would find out, at least not so soon. He had made sure that the process was untraceable, but of course there were still ways the boy could have found out. After all, what he'd done hadn't exactly been an easy process.

Damien must have figured it out when his powers went awry. He must have realized what his father had done to keep him under control, to make sure he never did what he was doing now – try to claim his throne.

He knew that the measures had been extreme, but the signs of rebellion had been there, the moments of true independence. That Kenny boy had sparked something in his son, some strength that had alarmed Satan a little bit. It had made him wary that maybe his position as the Prince of Darkness was in danger. So he'd done what he could.

"I found out from one of your oh-so-loyal subjects, Blevins, that you blocked out my powers with magic, making it almost impossible for me to use them, because you were aware of how powerful they had become in the past few months. I was quite surprised, _sir_. I never took you to be a coward," Damien sneered.

Where had all this attitude and hostility come from? Since when had Damien grown a damn backbone and learned to stand up for himself? Satan's skin burned, his emotions blurring his thoughts, but somewhere underneath he felt a tingle of pride. Finally, the kid was actually living up to his name.

"Watch who you're calling a coward," he said, though he was no longer angry. "I must say…I'm impressed. I'm guessing you had to torture Blevins before he revealed any information?"

Damien nodded, his face not giving away even a hint of regret, even though he'd always looked up torture with a hint of disgust and terror.

"My, my, you're finally growing up-"

"Enough." Damien clenched his fists, glaring up at his father with hatred. "I've regained my powers, and I know just how much more potent they are than yours – Blevins mentioned it when I was peeling the skin off his stomach. I'm sick of this bullshit, and I'm sick of being under your rule. So I've decided that you've been here long enough, and it's time for a new ruler."

"I don't think so."

The Prince of Darkness shot forward, trying to take his son off guard with his lightning speed. It took less than a second for him to leap to where his son was, arms outstretched and fingers reaching for Damien's neck. He was inches away, mouth widening into a smirk, when his hands closed around thin air.

_What the-_

He felt a terrific pain shoot across his back and he was slammed into the ground. The marble around him literally _rippled _from the impact and his vision exploded into black and red. He groaned, tensing his muscles and trying to push himself off the ground, out of the crater that his body had made.

Damien kicked him over roughly, so that he was facing the ceiling. His eyes connected with those of his son's, and he knew that his expression reflected the confusion in his mind.

_How had he…with only one hit? _

"You might be wondering how I could take you down so easily. The past few weeks haven't just been about regaining my powers. I knew that even if I tapped into my full potential, you would still pose a challenge. So I took the liberty of…_relieving _you of some of your power. I hope you don't mind. I figured that since you're retiring, you won't be needing it as much anymore."

He watched as Damien walked to the middle of the room, pulling out a curved dagger that glinted in the light. In one swift move he sliced open his palm, letting the blood drip onto the crown. The cut healed almost immediately, but the blood droplets remained on the crown and slowly began to spread – a rusty maroon stain growing on the lovely gold.

Once it covered the entire crown, Damien would be the ruler. Hell itself would respond to his commands, and he'd have influence over anyone he so wished.

Above them, above the rooftops of Satan's mansion, they heard a loud crackling. It was like lightning, but even more powerful and more deafening. It was the sound of the sky opening up, the sound of the bridge to Earth building itself temporarily.

It was the sound of _chaos_.

Outside he could hear the screams of terror and excitement, the howls and the shrieks of those who were in the dark, and those who knew exactly what this meant. If Damien were the only person to spill blood on the crown, then the sky would close up again once the blood had spread everywhere. But if there were another challenger…then who knew how long the battle would take?

Suddenly, Satan felt exhausted and sick. This was all too much for him.

It had been too much for the past few years.

He stood up, watching as Damien's wary eyes never left his hunched form. He brushed the dust off of his skin, then straightened and looked his son in the eye:

"I see we're about done here. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to be taking my leave. Try to at least do a decent job as ruler, if that's within your abilities."

He teleported out of the room, the image of Damien's stunned expression branded into his mind.


End file.
